5ROEJ1A 


• 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


EDALAINE: 


A     METRICAL     ROMANCE. 


BY 

F.  ROENA  MED  INI. 


NEW    YORK: 

COPYRIGHT,  1891,  BT 

G.    W.    Di  I  ling  ham,   Pitblisher, 

SUCCESSOR  TO  G.  W.  CARLETON  &  Co. 

MDCCCXCII. 
{All  Rights  Reserved.} 


*t  ^ 

/£- 

„  ^- ~— — -y  rmr^s  t 


*1 
'-0 

To  HER 

WHOSE   MEMORY   IS   A    HERITAGE  ABOVE   PRICE  ;    AN 

EXAMPLE  OF    A  GREAT  SOUL  ;    A    NOBLE   MIND  J 

A  MEEK  SPIRIT  AND  PROUD  BEARING, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS  INSCRIBED  BY  A 

DAUGHTER 

WHO    WAS    NURTURED    IN    THE    SUNSHINE   OF   A 
MOTHER'S  UNBOUNDED  LOVE. 


Since  she  doth  sleep, — laurel  or  rue, 
'  Tis  one  to  me. 

PS 

5.37? 


762927 


w< 


c.  /*/. 

// 


EDALAINE, 


BOOK   I. 

Far  in  the  North,  where  winter  halves  the  year, 
A  peaceful  summer  scene  in  memory  dwells, 
Above,  a  canopy  of  azure  pure ; 
Beneath,  its  counterpart — a  tapestry 
Of  living  green,  whose  hues  are  multiplied 
By  every  passing  breeze,  and  which  like  seas, 
In  restless  waves  receding  from  their  shores, 
In  soft  and  rhythmic  undulations,  rolls 
From  rocky  cliffs,  to  melt  like  morning  mist 

In  shadowy  outlines  of  the  fringing  air. 

[7] 


8  Edalaine. 

A  prairie  broad,  where  naught  but  nature's  self 
The  harmonies  of  sight  and  silence  blends, 
Where  all  is  life,  and  yet  no  conscious  life 
Is  found,  except  the  crimson-throated  bird 
That  darts  on  high,  and  then  descends  to  wheel 
With  lazy  wing  above  the  shuddering  grass. 
Where  gentle  zephyrs  bear  across  the  plain 
The  clouds  to  cast  a  shade,  or  chase  a  ray 
Of  glittering  sun  far  o'er  the  changing  scene. 
Amidst  these  rolling  plains,  these  prairies  vast, 
There  slept  a  valley,  watched  unnumbered  years 
By  jealous  eye  of  day,  ere  man  appeared. 
Like  beauteous  Gyneth  in  her  sleep,  the  vale 
Is  robed  in  lustrous  garb,  and  all  the  charm 
Of  nature's  wealth  is  laid  upon  her  breast. 
Such  garniture  of  leaf  and  vine  was  here, 
When  first  the  vale  imprisoned  sight  of  man, 
The  gentle  falling  slope  seemed  nest  of  bird, 
Whose  frame  of  bending  twigs  and  clinging  grass 


Edalaine.  9 

Is  softly  lined  with  silky  leaves  of  green. 

For  miles  around,  North,  East,  and   South   and 

West, 

Tall  grasses  wave  like  helmits  plumed,  or  bend 
To  breathe  o'er  heads  of  wild  wood  ferns  or  flowers, 
A  symphony  of  chivalry  and  love. 
And  through  the  vale,  like  moonlight's  trembling 

ray, 

That  draws  a  silken  thread  o'er  sleeping  seas, 
There  windeth,  too,  a  line  of  gleaming  light, 
Which  breaks  into  a  brooklet's  murmuring  song, 
And  lulls  the  listener's  anxious  heart  to  rest. 
And  from  its  sheen  perchance  was  born  the  name 
It  bears  of  Silver  Creek,  unless  it  be 
From  glimpse  of  tiny  fish  with  silvery  scales, 
That  idly  float  on  crystal  wave,  or  leap 
To  catch  the  sun  and  make  the  glittering  drops 
From  off  their  sides,  flash  changeful  rainbow  tints 
Then,  sinking  back  amidst  the  mossy  rocks, 


io  Edalaine. 

Leave  eddying  circles  where  they  disappear, 
To  dart  with  lightning  speed  beneath  the  wave. 
At  times  the  stranger  lingered  as  he  passed, 
To  meditate,  and  felt  himself  upborne 
To  sense  of  higher  needs  in  human  hearts, 
And  wondered  as  he  stood,  all  loth  to  leave, 
Why  beauty  such  as  this  so  long  escaped 
The  eye  of  man,  world-weary  and  in  search 
Of  such  a  home  as  might  give  lasting  rest. 
For  peace,  that  builds  her  nest  afar  from  noise 
Of  crowded  towns,  here  brooded,  and  the  spell 
She  wove  in  harmony  with  nature's  own, 
Had  power  to  make  one  feel  the  pulse  of  God 
Here  beat  in  holy  nature's  rhythmic  life. 
And  Reverence,  long  dead  to  worldly  men, 
Here  touched  to  living  springs  the  human  heart. 
A  rocky  glen  was  hid  beneath  the  hills 
That  bound  the  northern  side,  a  place  where  one 
In  woven  dreams  would  build  the  fairies'  home. 


Edalaine.  1 1 

Th'  anemones  that  scarce  could  blush  to  hues 
Not  borrowed  from  the  snow,  until  their  white 
Was  mixed  with  purple  that  Aurora  lent 
To  them  !     Were  these  not  fairies  peeping  forth 
From  earth,  while  yet  the  snow  in  patches  decked 
The  ground  ? 

Then  when  the  spring  brought  perfumed  air, 
They  came  as  violets  like  bits  of  sky 
To  dot  the  mossy  banks,  while  overhead 
The  lichens  clinging  to  the  trees,  subdued 
To  quaker  garb  of  silver  gray,  what  else 
Had  seemed  too  bright  a  scene. 

At  autumn  time, 

The  fairies  flee  before  the  clan  that  stay 
And  seize  the  glen  and  revel  gypsy-wise, — 
A  yearly  week  of  rout  and  carnival, 
And  then  the  glen  to  merry  shout  and  jest, 
To  laughter  loud  awakes.     Prolonged  halloos 
Start  timid  beasts  from  out  their  lair,  to  speed 


1 2  Edalaine. 

From  sounds  that  bode  them  ill.     But  flight   pro 
vokes 

A  gay  pursuit  across  the  fields,  and  through 
The  glen,  of  rabbit,  squirrel  or  deer,  full  sure 
If  lost,  another  day  will  bring  them  down 
To  click  of  steel  as  pitiless  as  sure. 
Rough  men  and  browner  women  they,  whose  cares 
Ne'er  led  them  ask  what  copse  would  shelter  them 
At  night,  and  none  e'er  knew  from  whence  they 

came, 

Or  whither  went  these  merry  wanderers. 
One  year,  when  miracles  revealed  themselves 
In  tiny  blades  that  pierced  the  sod,  to  give 
A  spring-time  greeting  to  the  sun,  when  buds 
Burst  bonds  (like  butterflies  whose  chrysalids 
We  thought  the  sign  of  death),  to  spread   their 

wings 

And  flutter  o'er  the  waking  earth,  there  stood 
Beside  the  stream  a  son  of  toil,  who  brought 


Ectalame.  1 3 

The  simplest  tools  of  builder's  art,  to  make 
The  hills  from  morn  till  night  resound  to  strokes 
That  echoed  o'er  the  jagged  cliffs,  as  if 
Each  echo  were  a  foot-fall  of  the  past, 
That  fled  before  the  coming  of  the  new. 
At  first  the  branching  oak  and  stately  pine, 
That  firm  as  warriors  'gainst  the  pelting  lead 
Of  arm6d  hosts,  had  warded  off  the  blasts 
Of  winter  storms  and  stood  a  hundred  years, 
He  felled,  bringing  to  nature's  law  the  art 
Of  man.     For  days  he  toiled,  until,  restrained 
By  rugged  walls  he  raised ;   the  darkling  stream 
Had  paused  to  mirror  on  its  placid  face 
The  laughing  sky,  in  mimic  lake  that  stayed 
Awhile,  then  leaped  its  boundaries  to  be 
Again  the  brooklet  of  our  song,  and  then 
Beneath  his  iron  hand  there  grew  a  mill, 
And  then  the  stridulous  saw,  in  mocking  tones 
Sang  victory  o'er  the  bleeding  grove  that  long 


14  Edalaine. 

Had  stood  a  sentinel  before  the  glen. 

Perhaps  this  song  that  seemed  to  selfish  men 

A  cheerful  lay,  lured  other  sturdy  men 

To  this  fair  spot,  for  soon  a  street  was  laid, 

Rude  homes  were  built,  and  then,  not  yet  content, 

A  church  with  modest  spire,  behold  a  town ! 

Too  soon  the  spoilers  learned  whence  came  the 

wood, 

And  like  a  scar  that  lives,  a  haunting  ghost 
Or  gloomy  sepulchre  which  marks  the  spot 
Where  innocence  a  victim  fell  to  crime, 
Of  all  the  trees  the  rugged  stumps  alone, 
(Sad  tablets  of  the  soil),  were  left  to  prove, 
Dame  nature  had,  by  years  of  care,  endowed 
The  vale  with  forest  trees,  her  hardier  work, 
And  then,  as  if  she  long  designed  that  man 
Should  know    remorse,   she    paused.      No    later 

growth 
Had  she  brought  forth  to  give  to  eager  man 


Edalaine.  15 

Such  sad  employ.     And  so,  full  soon,  the  mill, 
Denied  of  food  for  hungry  maw,  like  some 
Gaunt  vulture,  chained  upon  the  whit'ning  bones 
That  he  had  stripped,  becomes  a  skeleton 
Through  which  the  tempest  whistles  dolefully 
Then  prone  to  earth  it  falls  to  meet  decay. 
The  church  itself  grew  brown  ;  and  happier  he 
Who  trod  the  pulpit's  narrow  range,  than  they 
Who  cramped  themselves  on  benches  rudely  made, 
To  hear  a  message  drawn  throughout  an  hour, 
By  dint  of  lengthy  words  and  gestures  fierce, 
That  save  as  task  work  he  had  told  in  half 
The  time. 

Long  years  was  this  before  our  tale 
Begins.     The  stones  beneath  the  dam  were  black 
With  slime,  and  only  snakes  on  summer  days 
Betook  themselves  to  this  old  spot  to  bask 
In    sunshine.      Coiled    in    glittering    rings    they 
blinked 


1 6  Edalaine. 

Or  slept  in  lazy  comfort,  nor  took  pains 

To  charm  a  careless  bird  that  chanced  too  near. 

One  day,  when  disappeared  the  sun  in  space 

Behind  the  western  hill,  and  left  a  glow 

Of  promise  for  a  new  and  perfect  day, 

A  band  of  earnest  men  and  women  paused 

Upon  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  gazed 

With  weary,  aching  limbs,  and  throbbing  brows, 

Upon  the  vale  where  shrub  and  leafy  tree, 

Half  hid,  and  half  revealed  the  spire,  the  school, 

And  winding  road  that  passed  close  by  the  mill. 

A  silence  fell  upon  both  young  and  old. 

The  haven  here  was  found  at  last,  to  lay 

The  corner-stone  of  faith  which  they  believed 

Would  falsify  all  lesser  creeds,  and  bring 

The  earthly  happiness  which  mortals  crave. 

A  solemn  prayer  arose  from  out  each  heart, 

And  silently  they  went  adown  the  hill 

To  this  new  life  which  promised  all  to  them, 


Edalaine.  1 7 

Yet  to  how  few  it  kept  its  promises ! 

Time  prospered   them, — this  band  that  wish'd  to 

prove 

The  world  at  fault  in  only  selfish  aims, 
And  gave  up  all  to  mutual  help  and  love. 
Alas,  such  trials  oft  by  earnest  souls 
Have  failed,  nor  can  we  chide  them  for  their  good 
Intent, — for  they  have  suffered  most  to  find 
That  souls  there  are,  too  small,  too  weak  to  bear 
The  burden  of  the  unattempted  rights, 
And  only  serve  to  mar  the  brave  attempts 
Of  nobler  souls  they  fail  to  comprehend. 
They    dwelt    as    brothers    should,   while    strictly 

bound 

Within  the  rules  that  marked  their  new  belief, 
Or  rather  old  belief,  and  new  endeavor. 
They  daily  gathered  round  the  cheering  board, 
One  common  kin,  ignoring  ties  of  blood. 
And  those  who  came  to  join  their  swelling  ranks, 


1 8  Edalaine. 

Endowed  with   greater  wealth,  as  freely  gave 
Into  the  common  store,  as  if  all  things 
He  used  before  had  never  been  his  own. 
And  thus  they  prospered,  till  the  name  they  chose 
Of  Phalanx  spread  abroad  ;  and  to  its  fold 
Were  added  thoughtful,  noble,  learned  men. 
And  here  events  as  elsewhere  on  the  earth, 
Swift  followed  each  to  burn  in  human  hearts, 
The  memories  that  serve  as  mile-stones  oft 
Upon  the  rugged  road  that  leads  through  life. 
Forever  rushing  toward  the  goal  we  hope 
Is  yet  remote,  we  hasten  on  with  speed 
That's  ever  undiminished,  hot  to  meet 
We  know  not  what,  and  yet  assured  'tis  death. 
A  day  of  mirth,  a  hush  that  seemed  like  death, 
Brought  change  or  care,  made  hearts  beat  gay  or 

sad, 

Now  touched  one  lintel,  now  passed  by  to  pause 
And  tap  upon  a  worthy  neighbor's  door. 


Edalaine.  19 

Three  years  had  passed,  and  Andrew  Grant,  who 

came 

With  children  six  to  swell,  with  manly  pride, 
The  chorus  of  the  dreaming  Fourierites, 
Had  builded  him  a  roomy  house  of  stone, 
Which  mother  earth  had  yielded  him  with  strong 
Resistance,  yet,  I  ween,  with  less  of  pain 
Then  when  she  saw  the  budding  trees  cut  down, 
And  felt  within  her  veins  the  milk  she  fed 
Them  with,  first  over-run  and  then  turn  dry. 
And  why  was  this?     Ask  thou  the  mother  heart, 
Which  claims  her  painful  care,  the  child  that  draws 
From  her  his  daily  life,  or  him  who  stands 
No  longer  nurtured  by  her  rich,  warm  blood  ! 
Good  Andrew  Grant,  unmindful  of  dumb  earth, 
Felt  much  of  pride  in  this  his  noble  work, 
And  hastened  to  complete  it,  there  to  give 
With  parent's  fond  demur,  his  eldest  born, 
Elizabeth,  in  wedlock  to  John  Holme, 


2O  Edalaine. 

The  miller's  son,  the  bravest  huntsman  round. 
And  blessings  manifold  were  on  them  shovver'd, 
While  parents  sigh'd  and  said,  "  'Tis  such  events 
That  warn  us  life  indeed  is  short,  our  babes 
But  yesterday,  to-day,  alas,  are  gone  ! '' 
In  winter  time  the  younger  folk  took  joy 
In  sports  wherein  the  elders  saw  no  ill, 
And  simple  dances  marked  to  time  of  flute 
And  viol,  filled  the  happy  evening  hours. 
So  winter  passed,  when  came  the  bans  of  one 
They  greatly  loved,  and  here  it  seemed  that  not 
The  mazes  of  the  dance  had  linked  two  hearts, 
For  he  whose  flute  made  dreamily  the  waltz 
Go  round,  would  never  dance :  "  My  brains/'  he 

said, 

"  Were  never  meant  to  guide  my  awkward  feet.'' 
But  certainly  his  eyes  had  d\velt  full  oft 
Upon  a  fragile  form,  that  midst  the  dance 
Had  woven  webs  to  catch  unwary  hearts. 


Edalaine.  2 1 

And  so  Dean  Brent  awoke  to  lay  aside 
His  flute,  and  bravely  woo  the  shrinking  maid. 
'Twas  this  event  that  brought  to  them  Dame  Ann, 
His  kindly  mother,  straight  from  Edinburgh. 
"'Twas  hard,"  she  said,  "just  found,  to  gie  him 

up," 
And   none  had   dreamed,  I  ween,  how  deep  her 

grief 

Took  root,  and  none  perhaps  could  understand 
Her  loneliness,  unless  it  be  the  wife 
Of  Andrew  Grant,  Dame  Evelyn  ;  whose  heart 
Was  filled  with  generous  love  for  all  mankind, 
And  touched  with  sympathies  so  swift  and  sure, 
She  straight  could  read  and  feel  their  griefs  e'en 

when, 

For  good  to  them,  she  gaily  laughed  and  sought 
To  make  them  seem  scarce  worthy  of  a  sigh. 

* 

And  yet  what  charm  of  nature  could  replace 
The  chain  of  habit  in  the  age"d,  born 


2  2  Edalainel 

'Mid  smoke,  and  stir,  and  roll  of  wheels,  and  din 

Of  city  life?    The  bells  that  toll'd  a  death  ; 

That  chimed  the  evening  call  to  prayer;  the  bells 

That  merrily  a  marriage  rite  proclaimed, 

Or  angrily  did  beat  their  iron  tongues 

Against  the  sounding  brass  in  wild  dismay, 

Lest  unaware  the  dwellers  of  its  streets, 

Too  late,  alas,  should  find  themselves  wrapped  round 

By  fire, — all  these,  within  the  quiet  vale 

Were  never  heard.     The  very  Sabbath  day 

Itself  seemed  not  the  same,  but  changed  to  peace 

Of  country  life,  its  beauty  was  to  her 

A  sealed  book  and  cause  of  vague  unrest. 

But  angels,  not  unmindful  of  the  tired 

And  lonely  soul,  caught  first  a  wish  that  springs 

From  earnest  loving  hearts ,  a  ray  of  sun 

To  link  to  cheerfulness  a  seed  of  truth  ; 

A  kiss  of  innocence  and  chastity ; 

An  atom  of  humanity,  and  pledged 


Edalaine.  23 

Them  all  to  keeping  of  Dame  Evelyn, 

Who  lived  in  noble  practices  the  dower 

Of  beauteousness  she  prayed  to  give  her  child. 

"  She  shall  be  pure  and  true,3'  she  said,  and  faith 

Made  fairer  yet  the  mother's  countenance, 

And  virtuous  herself,  no  wrong  would  come 

To  chill  the  blood  within  her  womb.     She  sought 

In  all  her  vision  rested  on,  the  fair 

And  loveliest.     Like  mirror  to  reflect 

Within  its  darkling  depths,  what  passes  o'er 

Its  face,  so,  she  believed  :     "  Whate'er  my  soul 

Doth  know,  doth  feel,  doth  contemplate,  shall  stay 

Reflected  on  the  mind  of  this  my  child. 

What  joy  to  be  the  chosen  instrument 

Of  God  in  leaving  impress  on  our  seed !" 

She  read,  and  when  her  thoughts  revealed  the  true, 

Or  pure,  or  noble  in  the  word  of  man, 

Philosopher,  or  poet  born,  she  said  : 

"  So  would  I  that  my  child  interpreted 


24  Edalaine. 

The  good  of  life.''     She  gazed  upon  a  work 

Of  art,  and  lingered  long  upon  its  points 

Of  excellence,  to  form  the  younger  life 

To  observation  close  which  can  alone 

Perfect.     A  spirit  dwelt  beside  her,  which 

She  taught,  and  teaching  thus  she  grew  herself. 

In  dreams  of  good  to  man  andpray'r  to  God, 

Dame    Evelyn's  steps  seemed   now    no  more   of 

earth. 

All  attributes  of  life,  its  sympathies, 
Its  tender  helpfulness  and  mercy  shown, 
Fair  truth,  unselfishness  and  saving  word, 
All  graces,  virtues  that  she  wished  bestowed, 
She  lived,  and  shrank  with  horror  from  the  faults 
That  would  have  marred  a  perfect  life. 

Where  found 

She  most  these  practices  ?     Upon  the  hearth 
Of  home,  whose  toil  began  at  break  of  day, 
And  ended  not  till  clocks  had  toll'd  their  length 


Edalaine.  25 

Of  hours,  to  turn  and  count  them  yet  again. 

Avarice,  envy,  malice,  all  were  robbed 

Of  poisonous  intent,  by  chanty  ; 

By  love  of  neighbor  as  herself  and  more. 

The  wholesome  practice  of  the  Golden  Rule. 

"  I  do  to  them  as  I  would  have  my  child 

Done  by."     The  petty  trials  that  beset 

This  life,  could  touch  her  not.     An  angry  word, 

Complaint,  or  peevishness  met  such  a  look 

Of  gentleness,  such  ready,  calm  reply, 

It  quieted  the  troubled  breast  like  balm 

Upon  a  burning  wound,  an  angel's  touch 

Whose  wing  had  chanced  to  dip  too  near  the  earth. 

And  so  it  was,  a  presence  sanctified, 

Her  spirit  walked  with  God,  her  feet  with  men. 

An  angel  might  have  lost  his  holiness, 

Combining  thus  the  ills  of  life  with  will 

Of  God.     They  might  ?     Nay,  we  belie  belief. 

It  is  not  death  that  gives  the  angel  birth, 


26  E  dalaim. 

'Tis  He,  that,  schooled  on  earth,  has  beautified 
A  nature  prone  to  fault,  till  God-like,  bears 
He  impress  of  the  noble  right  to  act 
For  God,  throughout  the  spaces  of  the  high 
And  glorious  kingdom  of  perfected  souls. 
Oh,  heart  of  mothers !     You  alone  can  know 
The  rapture  born  within  the  soul  when  filled 
With  consciousness  of  power  to  make  or  mar 
A  budding  life  !     Oh,  days  of  hope  and  trust ; 
Of  fear  and  pain  ;  of  doubt  and  helplessness  ; 
Inevitable  mysteries  of  birth  and  death  ! 
Of  dreamings  in  the  expectant  mother's  heart, 
Of  fancies  built  on  fret-work  of  desire  ! 
What  most  she  loves  is  colored  in  these  dreams. 
What  most  desires,  in  minds  of  men  observes, 
And  scarcely  conscious  of  the  wish,  a  prayer 
Like  incense  wafts  its  perfume  to  the  skies, 
And  thus  sustained  by  nature's  yoke  she  bears 
Of  shadowed  martyrdom,  the  mother  walks 


Edalaine.  2  7 

With  joy  : — "  For  though  I  die,'* — faith  speaks — 

"  my  child 

May  live,  her  sweetness  tempering  ills  of  life, 
Her  truth  disarming  sin.'' 

Though  seventh  bairn 
Of  Andrew  Grant  and  Mistress  Evelyn, 
The  love  that  waited  her,  intensified 
By  feeling  that  she  was  the  last,  could  note 
The  touch  of  angel  hands,  and  so  they  called 
Her  Edalaine  and  prayed  ''that  faith  might  guide 
Her  life  till  angels  roll'd  the  stone  from  off 
The  tomb  of  buried  hopes,  to  give  them  back 
Again.''     So  said  Dame  Evelyn  that  night. 
At  first  the  eyes  that  opened  to  the  day, 
Seemed  violets  that  glistened  through  a  lake 
Of  morning  dew,  and  then,  as  if  the  sun 
Had  mixed  its  red  with  blue  of  skies  and  touched 
Once  more  the  orbs  that  glowed  with  laughter  ere 
The  lips  could  form  a  radiant  smile ;  these  depths 


28  Edalaine. 

That  prophesy  a  soul's  expanse  were  turned 
To  purple  hues.     With  passing  summer  months 
The  angels  touched  her  eyes  again,  this  time 
With  hues  they  borrowed  from  the  brownest  leaf 
Of  autumn,  or  the  chestnut  as  it  falls 
To  catch  the  glint  of  setting  sun  that  warms 
Its  brown  with  ruddy  gold. 

Sweet  eyes  !     They  brought 
A  benediction  in  their  glance.     But  most 
Of  all  the  blessings  fell  in  lonely  heart 
Of  good  Dame  Ann,  who   called   her   "  Peaceful 

Eyes," 

And  straight  declared  her  born  to  some  great  work 
On  earth,  to  which  the  mother  ready  gave 
Assent.     "  She's  born  to  be  the  comforter 
Of  fast  approaching  wintry  days,  the  sun 
And  light  of  seared  and  yellow  age.     What  life 
Its  plenitude  to  richer  charity 
Bestowed,  could  mortals  find  ?''     But  silently 


Edalaine.  29 

The  other  turned  to  hide  a  starting  tear, 
That,  midst  the  furrows  of  her  browned  face, 
Found  paths  washed  deeply  in  by  bitter  brine 
Of  griefs,  now  wept  a  score  of  dreary  years. 
Then,  gazing  down  upon  the  sleeping  child 
With  something  like  a  sob  that  stirred  her  voice, 
She  spoke :  "  I  ken  its  like,  guid  wife,  but  then, 
You  see,  I  thocht  the  same  o'  my  wee  lad, 
And  now  he's  ta'en  a  braw  young  wife  wha's  guid 
As  gowd,  and  means,  I  dinna  doot,  to  be 
As  kind  to  me  as  my  ain  lass,  but  then, 
Ye  ken,  I  canna  feel,  though  fain  I  would, 
There's  muckle  need  o'  me  about  the  house, 
When  a'  is  said,  and  if  the  morn's  fair  sun 
Looked  down  on  me  nae  mair,  its  a'  the  same 
To  Wullie  there.'1     ''Fie,  Fie,   Dame   Ann,   thy 

heart 
Hath  played  thee  false,  thy  spirit's  sight  is  dark, 


30  Edalaine. 

Surcharged  with  spleen.     How  gladly,  when    my 

child 

Hath  safely  reached  the  poise  of  womanhood, 
Shall  I  give  o'er  my  care  to  one  whose  love 
Will  guard  and  waken  her  to  life  she  else 
Would  never  know  !     And  think  you  then,  I  lose 
My  child  ?     No,  no  !     A  son  is  won  !     The  heart 
So  narrow  that  it  loves  but  one,  loves  not 
So  well,  and  mother  heart  that  lavished  love 
While  yet  the  sleeping  bud  had  never  seen 
The  light,  must  love  her  child  but  for  the  need 
Of  loving,  nor  asks  love's  return  again. 
And  thy  good  son,  hast  thou  not  yet  his  face 
To  look  upon  ;  his  voice  to  hear,  his  care 
To  prove  devotedness  ?  "     And  here  a  shade 
Fell  o'er  the  sill  to  slant  from  off  the  porch. 
4<  Well  said,  good  Mistress  Evelyn,  I  ween 
My  mother  lacks  thy  seeing  mind.     Methinks 


Edalaine.  31 

My  manhood  frets  her  more  than  cares  she  knew 

In  early  years.     She  mourns  her  babe  for  aye, 

Nor  can  she  think,  in  spite  of  all  my  words, 

That  Jeannie  there,  and  I,  count  her  in  all 

Our  hopes  of  joy,  our  grief,  sole  lack  of  pow'r 

To  banish  from  her  past  its  memories 

Of  loss!",     "  Ah,  lad !"  and   Dame  Ann    smiled 

through  tears, 

"  Ye  ken,  wae's  me  !  ye're  mither's  aulder  grown, 
And  aibleens  like  a  bairn,  ye've  nocht  to  do 
But  bear  wi  a'  her  thrawart  ways,  and  think 
It  were  not  ever  thus."     "  Aye,  aye  ! ''  replied 
The  son  with  fond  embrace,  "  there's  few  sae  braw 
To  look  upon  e'en  yet,  just  look  at  this," 
And  off  comes  Dame  Ann's  cap  to  bare  her  head. 
"What  blushing  maiden  in  our  town  is  crowned 
With  silky,  waving  hair  like  that?     Its  brown 
Is  tinged  with  burnished  gold,  that  through  its  veins 


32  Edalaine. 

Runs  safely  hid  till  light  of  sun  reveals 
It  there.     And  then  these  pearls !     Bright  senti 
nels 

Of  Epicurius !  one  only,  gone, 
Ani  sacrificed  to  small  a  thing  as  pin 
That  held  a  ribbon  to  my  kite.     One  day 
I  plead  her  aid  to  make  it  fast,  and  she — 
'Tis  not  ingratitude  that  bids  me  say't — 
Was  quite  as  much  the  child  as  I,  that  risk'd 
Her  lovely  teeth  to  pinch  the  rebel  pin 
To  place.     And  how  I  cried  when,  with  a  scream, 
She  caught  the  broken  ivory  in  her  hand  ! 
And  she,  '  Hist,  hist !  my  lad,  ye  mauna  greet, 
Else  father  hear,  and  we  mun  tell  him  a'.' 
"  Ha !  ha !  we  made  a  bonny  pair  of  kids, 
Hey,  mother,  were  ye  not  a  saunsie  lass  ?  " 
"  Tut,  tut,  ye  sport  my  poor  Scotch  tongue  and 

yet 
Ye  have  ye're  father's  laughter-loving  way 


Edalaine.  33 

Of  flattering  one,  an'  now  yeVe  waked  the  bairn, 
An'  mussed  my  cap,  so  get  ye  hence  to  mow 
Ye're  hay."     "  I  see,  my  nose  has  summit  wrong, 
A  joint  awry !     'Twill  be  this  babe,  that  soon 
Will  muss  ye're  caps  and  play  the  truant  o'er 
Your  days."     And  so  it  fell,  indeed  the  child 
Became  a  tiny  despot  o'er  the  life 
Of  Mistress  Ann. 

Yet  not  exempt  from  griefs 
Were  those  who  dwelt  within  the  charmed  vale, 
As  years,  by  their  events,  made  short  or  long, 
Passed  on  and  brought  fair  gifts  of  love  to  some, 
To  others  griefs  that  time  could  not  assuage. 
Death  came  and  went.     Sometimes  he  reaped  the 

aged, 

Sometimes  the  fairest  flow'r  that  bloomed,  as  if 
Jealous  that  earth  should  be  so  bright,  so  glad. 
One  summer  day,  when  nature  seemed  to  doze 
And  trees  to  languish  'neath  their  weight  of  fruit, 


34  Edalaine. 

A  golden  day,  when  drowsy  hum  of  bees, 
That  paused  to  taste  with  lazy  sips  the  sweets, 
That  lurk  deep  sunk  in  fragrant  cups  of  blue, 
Of  white  or  gold,  then  paused  inert  upon 
The  swinging  edge,  to  seek  some  other  field 
Of  spoil, — the  carol  of  a  girlish  voice 
Awoke  the  birds  like  flash  of  sun  against 
The  shade. 

Oh,  Rose 
Of  Summer  quest, 
Rests  in  thee  no  thorn? 
Oh,  bird  in  thy  nest, 
Wert  thou  haply  born  ? 
Shadows  fall  from  every  tree, 
Why  not  they  on  you  and  me 
Courage,  heart, 
Do  not  start, 
At  a  falling  leaf. 


Edalaine.  35 

Elizabeth,  as  fair  and  bright  to-day 

As  on  that  bridal  morn  when  love  endowed 

Her  life   with   his,    came   forth    to    watch    John 

Holme's 

Return.     The  song  that  kissed  her  lips  to  thrill 
The  air  with  sweetest  melody,  to  die 
Of  sadness  born  of  fleeting  rapture,  yet 
To  kiss,  in  other  notes,  her  lips'  bright  red, 
Had  ceased,  till,  silently  she  stood,  and  then, 
As  if  the  flowers  had  begged  the  boon  to  give 
Their  lives  for  ecstacy  of  one  full  hour 
Upon  her  breast,  she  clustered  crimson  buds 
Against  a  leaf  of  green,  and  swiftly  here 
And  there,  amidst  the  purple  of  her  braids, 
Had  nestled  them.     Herself  a  flower  abloom 
In  creamy  white,  her  dark  rich  beauty  more 
Resplendent  'midst  its  falling  drapery, 
And  dreamily,  as  if  her  twittering  friends, 


36  Edalaine. 

The    birds,    had     whispered    her:     "Add     other 

flowers," 

She  touched  her  robes  with  gleaming  buds  of  rose, 
Until  Titania  ne'er  was  crowned  more  fair. 
And  thus  she  sang  : 

Oh,  Rose 
In  Autumn  air 
Hast  thou  felt  no  chill? 
Oh,  love  so  fair, 
Fears  thy  heart  no  ill? 
Ne'er  was  sun  without  a  shade ; 
Life  of  care  and  joy  is  made, 

Faint  not,  heart, 

Bear  thy  part, 
Through  a  bitter  grief ! 

When  music  of  her  voice  had  ceased  in  waves 
Of  sound  that  left  her  lips  to  ring  through  space, 
To  disappear  amidst  ethereal  blue, 


Edalaine.  37 

Like  angel  footsteps,  or  the  sigh  of  man, 

A  clock  chimed  forth  the  hour  with  weird  strokes, 

Till  with  the  fifth,  a  whirr  of  wheels  announced 

It  was  the  last!     A  faint  surprise  crept  o'er 

Her  face,  then   faded   there.      "  He's  late,"  she 

said, 

"  I  wonder  why,"  and  then  from  tree  to  shrub, 
From  bird  to  flower,  as  bright  and  restless  grown, 
As  e'er  the  restless  wings  of  humming  bird, 
Whose     remulous  beat  keep    time    to    troubled 

thoughts, 

She  glided,  while  she  waited  anxiously. 
Ten  minutes  passed,  when  down  the  shady  road 
Her  husband's  dog  came  rushing  madly  through 
The  dust,  his  coat  of  shaggy  black  all  wet 
And  mixed  with  weeds  that  line  with  slimy  lengths 
The  muddy  depths  above  the  mill.     His  haste 
Was  not  of  joy,  his  eyes  with  anxious  sight 
Appeai'd  to  her,  and  heedless  of  her  robe 


38  Edalaine. 

He  jumped  to  lay  his  paws  upon  her  arm 
And  gave  a  piteous  cry  to  call  her  back 
When  puzzled  and  amazed  she  gazed  away 
As  if  her  husband's  coming  must  be  brief, 
:Vnd  yet  this  cry  smote  on  her  straining  ear 
A  message  sharp  and  bitter,  plain  because 
Unused  to  aught  but  joy  expressing,  speech 
Yet  unprepared,  foreboding  swept  her  down 
And  like  a  stricken  deer,  the  huntsman's  prey, 
She,   pale   and  white,    sank   'midst   the    fragrant 

flowers, 

Nor  felt,  nor  knew  how  bravely  then  he  strove, 
By  nature's  true,  unerring  instinct  taught, 
To  wake  again  to  life  the  fluttering  pulse 
That  now  refused  to  beat.     At  last,  assured 
His  efforts  were  in  vain,  he  gave  a  cry 
Of  grief,  and  then  again  drew  back  to  gaze 
Upon  the  pallid  face,  perhaps  to  raise 
An  agonized  thought  to  some  unknown 


Edalaine.  39 

And  stronger  power,  then  bounded  o'er  the  field, 
Till  at  the  old  stone  school  he  paused.  The  door 
Was  closed.  Two  hours  before,  the  green  had 

ceased 

To  echo  back  the  calls,  the  laughs  and  shouts 
Of  merry  children's  sport.     But  not  deterred 
By  doubts  that  human  minds  might  then  have  felt, 
He  sprang  upon  the  window  ledge,  and  woke 
The  stern  old  master  from  his  dreams  by  quick 
And  vig'rous  pulls  upon  his  threadbare  coat. 
The  master  gazed  at  first  with  mute  surprise, 
And  then,  he  seemed  to  see  a  human  pain 
Within  the  eyes  that  looked  to  him,  that  chilled 
The  blood  within  his  age"d  heart.     He  seized 
His  hat,  and  followed  hastily  the  steps 
Of  his  dumb  guide.     They  passed  the  busy  town, 
And  met  nor  man  nor  beast  upon  their  way. 
Howbeit,  at  the  broken  bridge  arose 
A  stooping  form  that  held  by  hand  a  bright 


4O  Edalaine. 

And  winsome  child.     How   fleet  is   time!      The 

babe, 

Sweet  Edalaine,  was  queen  o'er  all  thro'  love, 
And  bore  the  stature  of  her  five  short  years 
Imperious  as  a  queen,  that  blends  with  it 
Sweet  modesty. 

The  master  seeing  them 
A  moment  paused  and  cried  :  "  Good  eve,  Dame 

Ann/' 

You  have  not  chanced  to  see  our  worthy  friend, 
John  Holme?"  and   raised    the  while  his  hat  to 

wipe 

The  beads  of  crystal  from  his  brow.     "  Aye,  that 
I  have,  guid  mon,  not  ha'  an  hour  aback, 
Wi'  gun  in  han',  an'  after  that  I  heard 
The  gun  resound,  an'  said  until  mysel', 
The  cruel  sport  the  lad's  begun.     I  wo'd 
He'd  see  the  fearf u'  sin  o't."    "  I  fear  the  worst," 


Edalaine.  41 

The  master  said.     "  Would  you,  good  Dame,  make 

haste 

To  seek  his  wife  and  friends,  and  send  me  aid 
To  look  for  him?"     "Aye,  that  I  wull,  guid  mon  ! 
A  better  lad  ne'er  lived,  except  it  be 
My  ain  guid  bairn,  my  Wullie  there."     But  ere 
Her  words  were  done,  the  master  scaled  the  fence, 
And  stood  upon  the  only  plank  that  crossed 
The  wild  and  roaring  waters  of  the  dam. 
It  yielded  to  his  weight.,  but  did  not  break, 
And  pausing  not  to  think  of  dangerous  ways, 
Nor  of  defeat  in  searching  for  his  friend, 
He  hastened  on,  intent  alone  to  save. 
His  guide  already  stood  upon  the  shore 
And  bayed  in  mournful  tones,  expression  sad 
Of  his  belief.     When  come,  he  straightway  led 
The  master  to  a  heap  of  clothes,  and  when, 
As  if  to  tell  more  plainly  where  his  friend 
And  master  disappeared,  he  cried  and  moaned 


42  Edalaine. 

Again  upon  the  water's  edge,  and  then 

Plunged  in  and  swain  beneath  the  willow  bough, 

And  laid  a  wounded  bird  upon  the  shore, 

The  worst  was  told.     No  human  tongue  could  tell 

The  mournful  news  in  more  explicit  way, 

And  naught  remained  to  do  but  wait  for  help, 

Or  rather  hasten  to  the  nearest  house 

For  ropes  and  drags.     So  once  again  he  braved 

The  dangers  of  the  old  and  rotten  plank. 

Dame  Ann,  who   hurried  toward  the  town,  sent 

young 

And  old  to  join  the  search,  and  when  she  near'd 
The  gate  that  opened  to  the  cottage  door, 
Embowered  by  climbing  rose  and  columbine, 
And  stood  within  the  precincts  of  those  grounds, 
Made  beautiful  by  toil  of  him  they  sought, 
She  felt  a  hush  that  moved  her  more  than  all 
The  anxious  doubts  that  fill  her  heart  before. 


Edalaine.  43 

The  hope  that  naught  was  wrong  seemed  then  to 

die 

Within  her  heart.     Instead,  a  dread,  a  sad 
Foreboding  rose  to  take  its  place.     She  gave 
A  smothered  cry,  as  she  beheld  the  form 
Half  hid  in  grass,  and  while  the  others  sought 
The  husband  drowned,  Dame  Ann,  at  home,  tried 

hard 

To  wake  the  heart  th.it  beat  for  him  to  life 
And  grief,  for  such  was  duty.     Such  are  some 
Of  life's  most  strange  inexplicable  laws. 
Why  could  she  not  have  slipped  quite  out  of  life, 
Unconscious  that  it  held  such  cruel  blows, 
Such  bitter  griefs?     But  God  had  not  so  willed. 
We  needs  must  meet  the  griefs,  to  comprehend 
That  life  is  repetitions  of  itself, 
In  woes  that  blanch  the  cheek,  and  joys  that  cloy 
The  over-giddy  heart,  both  set,  perchance, 
As  balances  to  measure  out  to  us 


44  Edalaine. 

The  proper  gauge  of  moral  rectitude. 

She  lived,  and  woke  with  words  of  grievous  fright, 

That  she  had  swooned  by  weakness  of  her  will, 

In  place  of  hastening  to  her  husband's  aid. 

Unmindful  of  the  pleadings  of  Dame  Ann, 

The  tears  of  infant  Edalaine  who  held 

Her  sister's  dress,  and  could  not  understand 

Denial  of  caressing  words,  she  sped 

Adown  the  road  that  now  lay  hid  in  night, 

To  meet  a  sad  and  silent  train  that  bore 

By  torchlight  what  was  late  his  breathing  form. 

These   fitful  gleams  of  light !     They  seemed   to 

glare 

With  eyes  like  demons,  midst  the  gloom  of  deep, 
Dark  night,  to  mock  her  grief !     They  seemed  to 

sear 

The  senses  of  her  dizzy  brain,  and  heap 
Her  agonies  with  tortures  sharp  and  keen  ! 
The  loss  of  consciousness,  but  at  the  thought 


Edalaine.  45 

Of  accident  had  come  ;  now  death  was  here, 
His  labor  done,  relief  came  not.  Each  pang 
Of  grief  was  hers  to  know  and  feel,  "'Twere 

well," 
Some  said,  "  if  hearts  like  hers  could  break."     But 

hearts 

That  break  are  few,  and  do  not,  as  these  words 
Imply,  bring  peace  of  death.     Less  pain  there'd  be 
On  earth  if  this  could  be,  for  living  deaths 
Were   spared   the  human   heart.     One   sad,  brief 

hour! 

Her  happiness  a  wreck,  and  life  had  changed 
For  her,  from  gladsome  sun  to  hellish  night ! 
This  jailer,  gaunt  Despair,  all  pitiless, 
Locked  in  the  tempest  of  her  grief  to  tear 
Itself  against  the  bars  of  prison'd  speech. 
The  night,  the  lights,  the  pallid  faces,  all 
Seem'd  strange,  and  then  the  hidden   Something 

there 


46  Edalaine. 

Upon  the  rough- formed  bier,  heaped  horror  on 

The  wan,  weird  darkness  of  the  summer  eve ! 

Another  woman  would  have  thrown  herself 

Upon  the  corpse,  and  waked  with  cries  the  night, 

As  hoping  to  arouse  the  dead,  but  she 

Seemed  paralyzed  in  all  but  sense  of  grief 

And  sight.     Her  eyes  two  burning  balls  of  fire 

That  sought  upon  the  faces  of  this  dark 

And  slowly  moving  throng,  some  new-born  hope 

Glanced  fearfully  and  earnestly  around. 

And  when  the  silent,  dripping  form  was  laid 

Upon  the  cottage  floor,  she  gazed  at  them, 

At  it,  and  clung  to  friendly  hands  stretched  out 

In  deep-felt  sympathy,  as  if  at  sight 

Thereof  some  nameless  terror  of  the  Thing 

Stark  stiff  in  death  had  clutched  her  timid  heart. 

And  when  at  last  she  doubtingly  crept  near, 

Drew  from  the  face  a  scarf  of  silk  there  thrown, 

Stroked  back -the  hair,  and  gently  wiped  away 


Edalaine.  47 

The  clinging  weeds.     Unheard,  they  moved  out 
side, 

And  in  the  room  alone  she  knelt,  her  dead 
Her  own.     A  shivering  sigh,  a  half-suppressed 
Dry  sob, — no  other  sound  spoke  of  her  grief. 
One  arm  up-raised  the  senseless  head,  and  close 
Her  trembling  lips  sought  life  and  love  in  his, 
Then  whispered,  "  Come,  O  love,  my  life  is  thine ! 
Nay,  mine  and  that  of  our  unborn,  is  thine — 
Drink  all  from  my  poor  lips,  and  it  shall  give 
Thee  pulse  and  living  warmth.     And  once  again 
She  clung  to  lips  that  seemed  straight   drawn   in 

dumb 

Derision,  nor  sank  curve  in  curve  as  was 
Their  wont,  till  quickening  currents  of  their  hearts 
Burst  bounds  of  two-fold  life,  to  sweep  from  soul 
To  soul  in  one  swift  burning  tide  ;  and  then 
She  gazed  in  sightless  orbs,  as  if  this  sharp 
Repulse  had  stung  her  heart  to  newer  grief. 


48  £  da  lame. 

She  slowly  laid  the  head  upon  the  floor, 
Look'd  round  for  sympathy,  then  thrilled  the  air 
To  swiftly  eddying  circles  with  a  shriek 
That   pierced    the   gloom    of  night,    and  sobbed 

itself 

To  sudden  silence.     Stonily  she  let 
Them  lead  her  from  the  room  of  death,  to  sit 
In  dumbly  stricken  grief,  to  slowly  join 
And  rend  apart  the  tender,  supple  hands 
Of  snowy  white,  nor  conscious  of  the  pain 
To  those  who  watched,  beholding  grief  like  this. 
Once  came  Dame  Evelyn,  and  standing  there 
Pressed  to   her  heart  the   head   distraught,  then 

passed 

Her  soft,  magnetic  hands  along  the  brow, 
And  o'er  the  agonized  uplifting  of  the  eyes, 
Long  sought  to  draw  a  restful  veil.     A  sob 
Came  struggling  up  to  parched  lips,  and  then, 
Like  others,  died  away  in  shuddering  moans. 


Edalaine.  49 

Hot  tears  coursed   down  her  mother's  cheeks  and 

fell 

Upon  her  own,  and  mother's  aching  heart 
Plead  in  the  gentle  music  of  her  words. 
"Oh,  weep,   my  daughter,  tears  were   made    for 

grief. 

I've  seen  thee  weep  through  tender  pity  o'er 
A  wounded  bird,  and  lesser  things  than  that. 
Give  way  to  this  imprisoned  grief!     You'll  break 
My  heart  with  such  still  agony !"     She  pressed 
Her  mothers  hand  in  silence,  but  no  word 
Came  from  the  motion  of  her  pallid  lips, 
And  terror  for  her  child  began  to  rend 
The  heart  of  Evelyn,  that  soon  this  grief 
Would  blot  the  reason  of  her  mind.     All  through 
The  night,  the  dead  to  silence  given  o'er, 
They  spent  in  ceaseless  efforts  to  undo 
The  silence  of  her  grief,  but  naught  availed. 

Soft  twilight  kissed  the  dawn  and  birds  awoke, 


50  Edalaine. 

To  join  their  songs  with  preparations  vast 

Then  taking  place  throughout  the  mighty  realm 

Of  nature,  for  the  coming  of  the  day. 

These  woke  the  tiny  Edalaine,  who  slept, 

Oblivious  of  the  desolation  brought 

Upon  her  sister's  heart.     The  watch-dog  lay 

Beside  her  bed,  and  rose  with  her  as  if 

To  save  her  from  the  phantom  grief  that  reign'd 

An  uninvited  guest  within  the  house. 

The  breakfast  room  was  near, 

And  Edalaine,  with  gladsome  heart  tripped  in, 

To  find  it  vacant  still.     The  sunshine  fleck'd 

The  sanded  floor,  and  crept  upon  the  chair, 

With  ample  arms  now  vacant  evermore ; 

Slipped  down  to  dance  fantastic  shapes  with  shade 

Before  the  open  door,  and  lingered  'neath 

The  vine-clad  porch,  to  kiss  and  play  at  hide 

And  seek  with  sporting  zephyrs  there.     Just  high 

Enough  to  open  wide  the  closet  door, 


Edalaine.  5 1 

Blithe  Edalaine,  her  brother's  gown  of  blue 

Drew  forth,  and  laid  upon  the  oaken  chair, 

And  next  dropped  soft-lined  slippers  on  the  hearth, 

When  lo !  she  found  the  dog  had  drawn  away 

The  robe,  and  hid  it  out  of  sight  again. 

Once  more  the  coat   was  brought,  and  smoothly 

laid 

Upon  the  easy  chair,  but  "  Gay  "  was  firm. 
The  slippers  now  had  been  replaced,  and  then 
He  turned  to  capture  coat  and  drag  it  back 
Again.     This  time  he  placed  himself  against 
The  door  on  haunches  firmly  set  and  strong, 
And  Edalaine  could  scarce  decide  if  best 
To  laugh,  or  scold,  or  cry,  and  neither  saw 
The  pallid  face  that  watched  them  from  the  door 
Till  suddenly  Elizabeth,  the  gates 
Of  grief  at  last  broke  down,  fell  on  the  neck 
Of  this  dumb  beast  who  sought  to  save  her  pain, 
And  wept  in  heartfelt  pity  once  again, 


52  Edalaine. 

Of  pity  most  forlorn,  that  felt  for  self. 

"  Oh  Gay,  oh  Gay  !  why  could  you  save  him  not 

For  me,  you  are  so  wise  and  strong  ?  so  kind 

And  pitiful !"      He  laid  his  head  against 

Her   tear-stained    cheek,  and  kissed,    in   dog-like 

fashion, 

Hands,  and  cheek,  and  brow,  while  Edalaine, 
In  frightened  wonder  stood  to  see  her  tears, 
And  gladly  ran  to  hide  on  mother's  breast 
Her  fears,  as,  pale  with  watches  of  the  night, 
She  too  had  stopped  to  dry  her  own  sad  tears, 
At  sight  of  this  pathetic  scene.     She  led  the 
Child  from  out  the  room,  "  Fear  not,  my  child, 
The  sun  shines  bright  upon  the  grass,  we'll  walk 
And  talk  of  things  your  years  have  not  as  yet 
By  observation  taught.     The  birds  will  sing, 
Though  sister  weeps,  and  each  fulfill  a  law 
Divine  and  right."     And  then  the  mother  sought, 
In  words  that  lent  themselves  to  childish  ears, 


Edalaine.  53 

To  tell  of  death  the  part  more  beautiful. 
And  last  explained  the  endless  sleep  that  bound 
The  frame  of  him  who  walks  among  his  friends 
Gaily  and  free  and  blithe  but  yesterday. 
"  Be  ready  ever  for  the  last  good-night, 
My  child,  nor  ever  let  a  single  hour 
Of  coldness  or  dissension  stand  between 
Yourself  and  those  you  love  the  best,  lest  one 
Or  other  drop  the  while  in  this  deep  sleep." 
The  last  sad  rite  had  been  performed,  but  she 
Who  mourned  the  most,  lay  tossin'g  on  a  bed 
Of  pain.     To  consciousness  she  waked  but  once, 
And  gazed  upon  a  tiny  waxen  head, 
Whose  life  was  gone  ere  died  upon  her  lips 
The  blessing  breathed  for  it,  and  then  the  light 
Was  spent.     Delirium  swayed  the  restless  mind, 
And   friends  were  torn  with  anxious  doubts  lest 
death 


54  Edalaine. 

Again  returned,  should  conquer  life  and  prove 
This  soul  too  frail  for  battling  with  such  griefs. 
Day  crowded  days  to  weeks,  and  weeks  to  months, 
And  leaves  took  on  their  autumn  tints  of  brown. 
Fruit  fell  to  earth,  and  then  the  leaves  dropped 

down 

To  bury  what  man  left  to  turn  to  dust. 
The  birds  began  to  leave  their  nests  and  hie 
Themselves  to  sun-bathed,  leafier  climes  ere  woke 
The  wife  to  consciousness  of  widowhood, 
Which  seemed  to^blot  the  grief  of  childlessness. 
The  dog,  a  faithful  guard,  watched  night  and  day 
Beside  the  couch,  and  often  Edalaine 
Would  sit  betwixt  his  paws  to  watch  with  him, 
And  wondered  o'er  and  o'er  if  this  wan  face 
Was  yet  in  life,  or  whether  sleep — the  last 
Deep  solemn  sleep  had  claimed  the  suffering  one, 
And,  nestled  close  beside  the  shaggy  dog, 


Edalaine.  55 

Her  childish  heart  poured  forth  its  fear  and  woe 
In  many  a  simple,  earnest  prayer  to  save 
To  them  her  sister's  life. 


BOOK  II. 

When,  in  the  story  of  the  world's  increase, 

Have  not  the  evil  passions  of  its  men, 

Like  subtle,  smouldering  fires  amid  the  green 

And  towering  giants  of  the  forest  glades, 

Crept  in  the  nobler  virtues  to  destroy, 

Till  souls,  the  blackened  shadows  of  themselves, 

Desolate  remained  ?     And  in  what  age  of  man 

Hath  not  each  sin  found  creeds,  whose  sophistry 

Baptized  belief  or  act  as  virtue's  self  ? 

And  that  men  by  nature  great  have  oft  belied 

Their  gifts  of  virtue,  whence  all  wisdom  springs, 

When  inclination  warped  belief,  or  wrought 

With  reasonings  as  false  as  fair,  to  lead 

[571 


58  Edalaine. 

A  life  of  whim  and  mad  caprice  undreamed 
By  purer  minds  !     Why  think  our  age  exempt  ? 
Alas  !     Mistakes  breed  everywhere  within 
The  range  of  human  frailty,  like  rude  weeds. 
And  so  to  those  who  dwelt  within  the  vale, 
Though  not  at   once,   was   brought   a   wondrous 

change. 

Blind  man  would  say  an  evil  power  had  wrought 
The  change  in  simple  envy  that  a  spot 
On  earth  should  boast  of  peace  and  harmony. 
But  why  not  say  that  God,  far-seeing,  wise, 
Knows  best,  and  that  a  peaceful  life  on  earth 
Would  deaden  new  resolve  and  fresh  endeavor. 
But  whether  came  the  change  by  will  of  God 
Or  friend,  a  serpent  crept  into  the  vale, 
O'er  many  thresholds  passed  to  leave  behind, 
Its  slimy  trail.     Fair  homes  were  broken  up, 
And  inmates  scattered  far  and  wide,  while  men 
Became  the  victims  of  its  deadly  charm, 


Edalaine.  59 

And  minds  in  struggling  'twixt  conflicting  right 
And    wrong,   and    mysteries    which    confounded 

them, 

Or  filled  with  phantasies  absurd,  were  crazed, 
Were  left  like  vessels  tossed  at  sea,  no  sun, 
No  compass,  guide  or  anchor,  midst  the  storm 
That  drove  them  wide.     And  yet  the  cause  of  this, 
They  call  by  sacred  name  of  Love.     I  wot 
That  there  are  those  will  shudder  as  they  read, 
And  understand    what    shame,   what    grief  was 

brought 

Into  the  vale  by  sophistries  whose  name 
E'en  now  my  pen  abhors  to  write. 
And  much  as  in  the  days  of  yore  temptation  came 
To  pliant  man,  in  woman's  gentle  form, 
But  here  the  likeness  ends.     This  later  Eve 
Had  envied  man  his  rights,  and,  wond'ring  why 
He  seemed  to  claim  what  was  denied  to  her 
(The  chief  of  these  the  right  to  live  in  sin), 


60  Edalaine. 

She    mused,   compared,    and    caught    the    secret 

thought. 

'Twas  dress  that  made  a  woman  slave.     A  man 
Was  free  to  stride,  to  joy  in  actions.     Coils 
Of  silky  tresses  weighted  not  his  brain  ; 
The  ancient  story  told  of  Samson's  strength 
Was  but  a  myth,  and,  earnest  in  demand 
Of  rights  usurped  by  man,  she  never  joy'd 
O'er  secrets  that  enfold  man's  heart  when  drawn 
By  woman  with  a  single  golden  hair. 
This  daily  toil  of  braiding  tresses,  too, 
Was  quite  enough  to  give  the  men  a  start 
By  one  full  hour,  and  that,  in  one  short  year, 
Would  make  a  month  of  working  time, 
In  life  of  every  woman  born  (for  oft 
The  silly  ones  were  known  to  dress  the  hair 
P'ull  twice  each  day),  was  nearly  fifteen  years 
Within  allotted  life  of  man !     Ah  !  yes, 
'Twas  plain,  the  hair  must  go,  and  then,  since  time 


Edalaine.  61 

Had  much  increased  the  vanity  of  dress, 

So  great  their  waste  of  hours  it  ne'er  could  be 

In  decimals  compared,  and  now  that  minds 

Had  lost  the  simple  taste  of  Adam's  Eve, 

And  dress,  they  must,  at  least  no  vantage  ground 

Should  more  be  left  to  man,  and  so  the  dress 

Must  change.     To  imitate  the  man  ?     Oh,  no ! 

The  dress  was  hers  as  much  as  his,  by  all 

Good  rights,  and  soon  they'd  see  how  smooth  the 

wheels 

Of  State  would  move  in  woman's  hands.    With  this 
Resolve,  she  sought  to  cover  o'er  the  curves 
Of  lines  that  marked  her  beauty  over  man's, 
Until  she  half  forgot  her  sex,  and  thought 
Herself  creation's  Lord  !     Not  now  content 
With  face  to  win,  with  grace  to  charm,  with  voice 
To  allure,  she  'gan  to  strive  to  couple  with 

Her  limbs  of  fawn-like  grace  man's  vigor,  then 

/ 
To  tune  the  lute  strings  of  her  woman's  voice 


62  Edalaine. 

To  clarion  notes,  and  rather  wake  the  world 
To  raging  war  in  crying  down  its  wrongs, 
Than  first  to  tame  its  passions'  flame  to  use 
More  sweet,  by  sounds  that  lured  to  harmony 
The  jangling  discords  of  its  outraged  souls. 
And  one  of  these  had  wandered  to  the  vale. 
The  name  they  bore  of  fearless  enterprise 
In  living  out  their  code,  seemed  fitting  place 
To  plant  the  seed  that  soon  would  scatter  fruit 
Throughout  the  world, — and  so  her  sisters  thought. 
But  pity  'tis  to  tell,  she  had  not  learned 
Her    text ;    confounded    rights    and    wrongs,  and 

mixed 

With  them  base  licenses.     Unhappy  choice 
Of  women  earnest  in  their  cause !     She  brought 
Upon  their  work  a  stain,  and  ruin  marked 
Her  course  like  worm-corroding  path  that  blasts 
The  rose.     But  we  anticipate  our  tale  ; — 
She  begged  to  speak,  for  she  had  come  to  bring 


Edalaine.  63 

To  them  a  moral  freedom.     Right  to  live 
Outside  the  code  that  serves  to  bind  our  hearts 
To  clay  that  holds  no  soul. 

"  I  beg  you  look," 

She  said,  "  at  yonder  marriage  bond,  she  dreams 
Of  love  that  brings  no  care,  so  pure  her  heart, 
That  life  whose  aim  is  solely  reaching  forth 
For  wealth,  jars  rudely  heart  strings  tuned  to  high 
And  lofty  anthems  of  the  soul,  yet  finds 
Herself  beside  a  mate  who  soars  in  thought 
No  higher  than  his  farm,  his  plough,  his  grain 
And  corn!     Her  heart  that  yearns  for  infinite  joy 
With  kindred  souls,  by  this  fell  weight  here  forced 
To  grope  and  mourn  the  unattainable. 
And  here  we  find  another  hapless  pair. 
To  fashion's  wheel  the  wife  is  bound,  and  up 
And  down  the  giddy  world  she's  whirled,  first  here 
Then  there,  a  ceaseless  round  no  soul-life  wakes 
Nor  genius  germ,  nor  ideal  worth.     Alone 


64  Edalaine. 

He  stands,  the  problem  of  progressive  worlds 

To  solve ;  looked  on  by  her,  as  years  do  more, 

And  more  the  breach  make    wide,  as  but  a  clod 

Of  earth,  that  knows  not  how  to  grace  a  feast 

Or  turn  retort  in  fashion's  banter,  nor 

To  dance  a  reel  when  most  she  wished  to  show 

Her  gown  and  shake  beneath  the  nose  of  gossipers 

(For  politic  she  too  can  be  at  times) — 

Her  matrimonial  chains  to  make  them  talk 

Of  conjugal  felicity  and  her. 

"Arise,  my  friends !     Here  have  you  buildedyou 

A  mimic  world ;  throw  off  as  well,  the  chains 

That  make  you  still  as  worldly  here  as  those 

Who  live  without,  and  bow  to  fashion's  code. 

Affinities  must  guide  you  here.     Divide 

These  lives  that,  tied  here  side  by  side,  without 

One  common  thought,  one  lofty  dream  of  Heaven 

On  earth,  drag  each  other  down !     Move  on, 

Let  not  your  work  cease  here.     Grasp  other  truths. 


Edalaine.  65 

Let  love  sit  by,  a  guest,  who  comes  to-day, 

To-morrow  gone  ;  an  angel  worthy  all 

Our  best  and  brightest  thoughts,  for  he  gives  all, 

And  more  in  like  return  of  purest  love  ! 

Grieve  not,  when  he  be  gone,  its  bitterness 

By  sweets  is  e'er  replaced  with  eyes  grown  dear 

Through      newly    wakened    sympathies !       Grow 

young, 

Not   dumb  to  th'  emotions  of  the  heart,  and  thus, 
You'll  find  the  plant  of  love  blooms  o'er  and  o'er. 
Away  with  cant  of  chains  that  bind  ;  of  ring 
That  holds  for  good  or  ill !     Can  dead  hearts  beat 
Response  to  yours?     Dull   brains  give   ans'ring 

thoughts  ? 

Ah  no  !  and  marriage  bonds  kill  first  the  one, 
And — "  Stop  " — and   Evelyn   Grant,   in   righteous 

wrath, 

Stood  up  and  faced  the  woman  who  had  dared 
Invade  this  realm  of  peace.     "  'Tis  plain  you  mean 


66  Edalaine. 

By  love,  a  word  too  base  to  use  at  large. 

That  lust  can  satisfy  a  heart  like  yours 

I  will  allow.     Has  mother  heart  ne'er  beat 

To  hush  in  sacred  calm  your  passion's  flame  ? 

Has  love  ne'er  caused  you  measure  which  was  best, 

Love  dragged  a  day  in  lustful  pleasures,  or 

Th'  affections  which  doth  follow  it  when  held 

As  something  sacred  for  a  life  ?     Or  is  it 

That  you  have  so  dull  an  intellect 

That  chasteness,  and  affectionate  calm,  respect 

Of  man,  because  you  are  a  woman  born, 

Ne'er  reached  your    dimmed  perceptions.     Still 

I  say !" 

For  here  the  stranger  tried  to  speak,  but  paled 
To  feel  the  electric  thrill  of  eyes  that  looked 
Her  down  in  scathing  scorn,  as  on  she  sped 
In  quick    rebuke.      "  Who   taught   you   first   to 

breathe 


Edalaine.  67 

Your   infant   prayer?     Would   you    have  learned 

had  not 

It  been  ordained  that  those  who  walk  before 
In  this  advancing  life,  should  aid  to  wake 
To  life  and  action,  mind  and  heart,  and  soul ; 
Should  strive  to  gain  from  those  who  stand  below 
An  upward  glance,  or  more  ;  an  upward  step  ? 
All  selfishly  you  seek  for  kindred  souls, 
'  Affinities,'  in  your  weak  reasoning, 
Content  alone  to  feast  while  leaving  those 
You  ought  to  feed,  to  starve  for  moral  aid. 
Ask  duty,  not  the  whim  of  passing  hour, 
What  are  most  meet  for  proper  wedlock  here. 
It  is  divine,  the  marriage  law,  what  though 
Mistakes  are  made,  does  that  still  prove  the  law 
At  fault?     The  wife  who  dreams  the  livelong  day 
What  better  balance  to  her  vagaries, 
Than  sturdy  sense  of  what  you  deem  so  dull  ? 
Is  sense  or  judgment,  then,  beneath  in  grade, 


68  Edalaine. 

To  longings  vain,  to  sophistries  of  which 
She  may  herself  be  all  too  ignorant? 
And  he,  the  dreamer  that  you  pity,  linked 
To  wife  who  worships  fashion  and  the  world, 
Has  he  not  err'd  in  closing,  oyster-like, 
Within  himself  the  pearls  of  loftier  aims  ? 
Let  him  concede  to  dwell  with  her  within 
The  world,  join  in  her  pleasures,  there  to  learn 
The  broader  meanings — Charity  at  home 
Begins,  and  give,  instead  of  holding  back 
What  he  considers  wealth — and  she  but  dross, 
Till  each,  and  both  do  borrow  light,  and  lend 
Until  they're  harmonized  to  perfect  whole. 
And  then  the  little  ones.      Must  they  be  plunged 
In  chaos  of  these  mix'd  affections  too? 
Ne'er  cling  to  anchors  such  as  sacred  name 
Of  mother,  father,  what  though  parents  these, 
'Midst  cares  too  great  for  poverty  to  ease, 
They  lose,  perhaps,  sublimity  in  life. 


Edalaine.  69 

Shall  not  of  life  the  simple  attributes 

Which  wealth  or  learning  ne'er  can  give  or  take 

The  patient  word,  the  tender  hand,  the  smiles, 

The  tears,  shall  these  not  all  suffice  to  bring, 

While  moving  onward,  all  that  life  to  live 

Is  worth  and  make  of  wedded  life  the  calm 

And  steadfast  haven  of  our  earthly  bliss? 

Who  talks  of  else,  hath  wrought  a  curse  upon 

Themselves  by  marriages  not  made  in  love, 

But    only  through   some   worldly  thought;    some 

chance 

Or  worse,  unholy  passion's  end.     Oh,  friends  ! 
If,  as  of  old,  the  serpents  crept  within 
Our  Eden  here,  at  least  let  each  of  home 
Conserve  an  Eden  still.'' 

The  meeting  closed. 

And  deeply  entered  words  like  these  in  hearts 
Of  most.     But  some  there  were  who  sought  excuse 
To  free  themselves  from  chains  they  wore  but  ill, 


70  Edalaine. 

Who  raised  contentions  till  the  worst  was  done. 
Midst  other  homes  on  which  the  evil  fell, 
Was  that  of  gentle  Evelyn,  who  saw 
And  wept  to  see  the  ruin  that  was  wrought, 
For  stone  by  stone  the  edifice  man's  hand 
Had  raised,  the  social  ramparts  which  on  earth 
Were  meant  to  guard  the  tender  growth  of  good, 
Now  crumbled  to  the  dust.     What  man  had  spent 
Of  worldly  wealth  to  aid  in  this  good  work, 
Was  sacrificed,  or  else  they  needs  must  cling 
To  codes  in  which  they  could  no  more  believe. 
And  yet  she  held  with  steadfast  soul  to  truths 
She  felt  must  live  for  aye.     But  Andrew  smiled, 
And  sighed,  and  then  he  smiled  again.     He  dwelt 
Where  poets  dwell ;  dreamed  dreams,  nor  lent  his 

pow'rs 

To  uses  that  the  practical  might  win, 
When  dreams  with  gauzy  fabric,  served  alone 
To  dim  the  clearness  of  the  inward  sight 


Edalaine.  71 

In  sense  and  judgment,  when  a  need  like  this 

Arose  for  firm  and  steadfast  will.     He  vowed 

Or  rather  hinted  that  he  lived  for  aims 

Above  the  toil  and  sweat  of  bro\v  which  brought 

But  pelf,  wrote  letters  filled  with  verse,  and  vain 

Imaginings  to  lady  friends,  and  then 

Felt  hurt  when  answer  never  came  to  them. 

He  hinted  in  them,  life  was  all  a  sad 

Mistake  to  spirits  that,  like  him,  ne'er  found 

A  kindred  soul.     None  understood  his  heart, 

Nor  realized  how  fiercely  burned  the  fire 

Upon  the  sacred  altar  of  his  long 

Unsatisfied  desire  to  worship  here, 

Alone  the  true  and  beautiful. 

His  wife 
Was  strong,  made  brave  by  mother  love.     Scarce 

thought 

Of  strifes  begun  with  worldly  wealth  all  gone. 
With  her  such  love  gave  pow'r,  to  him  it  was 


72  Edalaine. 

But  dreaming,  and  to  leave  the  haven  where 
He  hoped  to  live  and  die,  meant  life  begun 
Anew,  with  all  the  cares  of  age,  and  lost 
The  hopes  of  youth.     She  lived  anew  her  youth 
In  each  young  life  God  gave  her  right  to  call 
Her  own.     He  loved  them  all,  but  only  from 
Their   youth    had    borrowed    timorous   fears,   he 

thought, 

And  argued  o'er  and  o'er  the  case,  and  thus 
With  others  in  the  vale,  in  argument  fond, 
Drank  ever  deeper  draughts  to  wake  and  warm 
The  blood  to  heat  of  the  debate,  talked  on, 
Nor  thought  of  work  that  must  be  done  to  save 
These  mouths  from  need  of  food. 

Ere  long  it  came 

To  pass  that  it  was  whispered  through  the  town 
That  Andrew's  head  was  turned.     At  least  'twas 

true 
That  once  or  twice  some  fiery  drink  had  ruled 


Edalaine.  73 

His  brain,  and  scenes  arose  that  made  him  seem, 
If  not  insane,  a  man  not  quite  himself. 
He  walked  about  the  town  in  strange  attire ; 
Or  strayed  away  for  days. 

There  sometimes  came 
To  Evelyn,  in  absences  like  these, 
A  stranger,  from  some  neighboring  town  and  bent 
On  curious  errand  he,  perhaps  to  claim 
A  bureau  which  her  husband  sold.     "  Would  she 
B^  kind  enough  to  point  him  out  the  one  ?" 
At  other  times  it  was  a  chair,  or  bed, 
And  Evelyn  with  dignity  complied, 
Nor  chose  to  show  to  stranger's  eyes,  she  had 
Not  known,  and  countenanced  their  sale.     At  last 
One  called  to  see  the  clock,  a- farmer  he, 
And  broad  in  English  dialect.     The  clock  ! 
'Twas  all  that  spoke  to  her  of  girlhood's  home. 
Her  father's  gentle  voice  had  mingled  with 
Its  chimes !     Each  hour  it  tolled  brought  memory 


74  Edalainc. 

Of  lessons  learned  from  him  ! 

"  The  rare  old  clock  ! 

The  Scots  had  aye  an  love  for  them,  but  bless 
The  'oman,  do  ye  weep?     Its  awkwarder 
Nor  what  I  thought !"     And  helplessly  he  scraped 
His  rough,  gray  chin, 

"A  bit  of  gold  is  worth 

The  clock,  but  blamed  if  I  can  buy  the  tears. 
I  thought  the  feyther  needed  gold,  but  'ems 
As  sell  the  meyther's  heart,  'ull  come  to  grief!" 
"  Nae,  nae,  ye  munna  mind,"  and  Evelyn, 
Her  pain  too  great  to  mark  her  words,  spoke  too 
In  dialect  her  father  used,  and  then, 
Remembering  herself,  she  sadly  smiled, 
To  see  the  children  marvel  at  her  Scotch. 
"The  clock,  I'm  sure,  is  safe  with  you,  and  when 
My  babe," — and  here  the  tears  choked  back   the 

words 
An  instant,  while  she  drew  her  Edalaine 


Edalaine.  75 

Against  her  heart — "  When  Edalaine  is  grown, 

I'm  sure  you'll  sell  it  back  to  her,  for  o'er 

Its  face  has  chased  the  sunshine  and  the  cloud 

Of  all  my  life.     Its  only  silences 

Have  marked  the  greatest  changes  of  my  days. 

Three  months  to  sail  from  Scotland,  was  the  first. 

Eleven  years  I  numbered  then,  and  now" — 

She  spoke  as  if  the  others  were  forgot, — 

"  At  twenty-two  my  father  gone,  and  I 

A  bride,  it  paused  but  half  an  hour  when  moved 

To  humbler  home  than  e'er  it  yet  had  known. 

At  thirty-three,  for  Andrew  loved  to  roam, 

We  left  Canadian  soil,  and  I,  my  kin. 

At  forty-four  we  joined  the  Fourierites, 

And  now" — and  when  she  looked  at  him  he  marked 

The  wanness  of  her  face,  as  if  some  grief 

Had  been  revealed  to  her  in  cruel  haste, 

Or  waked  to  conscious  knowledge  of  itself, — 

<!  I  feel  'twere  best,  that  of  my  life,  the  clock 


76  Edalaine. 

Should  never  know  the  rest,  lest  he,  who  loved 
My  youth  and  called  me  daughter,  yet  can  look 
Upon  its  face,  and  still  thereon  might  read 
More  truth  than  wittingly  I'd  have  him  know. 
Tis  folly,  is  it  not  ?     But  more  through  that 
Rude  clock  my  father  speaks  to  me,  than  aught 
On  earth,  and,  absent  from  my  sight,  I'd  feel 
My  ills  can  better  hide  themselves  from  him." 

The  man 

Had  busied  himself  in  gazing  at  the  clock, 
Had  oft  his  cotton  handkerchief  drawn  forth 
Or  taken  snuff  to  hide  his  tenderness 
Of  heart.     And  now  he  beckoned  Edalaine. 
"  And  so  it  be,yere  Scotch,  my  gell,"  he  said, 
"That's  maist  as  good  as  bein'  Lancashire. 
An'  when  yer  grow'd  we'll  see  what  says  the  clock 
Of  gells  as  minds  their  meythers,  an'  their  books." 
But  Edalaine  crept  back  to  touch  the  face, 
All  wet  with  falling  tears,  and  whispered  her 


Edalaine.  77 

In  one  word :  "  Mother,"  all  the  sympathy 

And  love  an  aching  heart  could  wish.     The  dame, 

As  if  aroused  to  dearth  of  duty  done 

In  hospitality,  beneath  her  roof, 

Arose  and  briskly  set  about  the  task 

Of  making  tea. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, 
My  lack  of  courtesy,  you'll  take  with  us 
A  cup  of  tea  ?    You  see  of  late  our  work 
Hath  fallen  slack.     The  Fourierites  could  not 
Break  faith  without  its  shadows  falling  on 
Us  all,  and  since  we  ceased  to  break  our  bread 
In  peace  around  one  board,  we've  lost,  I  think, 
Our  skill,  perhaps  'twas  wrong  to  so  withdraw, 
But  since  mine  ears  were  shocked  with  converse 

filled 

With  poisonous  intent  to  minds,  I  felt, 
With  all  my  little  ones,  'twere  best  contend 


78  Edalaine. 

With  bitter  want ;  face  sickness,  nay,  meet  death, 
Than  taint  their  minds  with  foul  disorders  which 
Now  brood  within  our  midst." 

"  Well  said,"  good  dame; 
If  aught  goes  wrong,  yer  welcome  to  my  best, 
And  there's  th'  wife  o'  mine  'ull  say  the  same, 
Send  me  the  gells  ye  need  the  least,  and  so 
It  pleases  ye,  they'll  allays  hev  a  home." 
And  so  the  clock  was  borne  away,  to  leave 
With  Evelyn  a  greater  grief  than  she 
Had  shown,  for  still,  in  painful  silence,  mused 
She  o'er  the  strange  demeanor  of  her  once 
"  Guid  mon." 

Sometimes,  as  mother  with  her  child, 
She  strove  to  reason  with  and  bring  him  back 
To  calm  and  steadfast  purposes  of  toil. 
"  There's  naught  in  such 

A  life.     I've  done  thy  way 


Edalaine.  79 

Now  leave  me  to  my  own."    "  But,  father,  think  !" 
"  Aye,  aye,  'tis  think,  'twere  better  that  I  ne'er 
Did  think !"      And  while  the  mother  hid  her  tears, 
And  yielded  task  she  felt  a  useless  one, 
He'd  next,  perhaps,  arouse  her  latent  hopes. 
But  hopes  thus  waked  would  languish  when  his 

work 

By  freaks  of  fancy  moved.     'Twas  first  to  plant 
A  cherry  tree  beside  the  door,  and  joy 
Awoke  as  cheerful  converse  then  they  held, 
While  he  in  earnest  work  with  spade  delved  on, 
And  she,  with  needles  clicked  the  stitches  off 
And  on  ;  but  next  her  heart  sank  hopelessly. 
He  left  the  work  of  usefulness  to  roam 
To  distant  spot,  and  paused,  perhaps,  beside 
The  brook,  to  plant  what  marked  in  after  years 
The  strange  caprice  of  wand'ring  mind.     "  They'll 

stand, 
Babe  Edalaine,  to  speak  to  thee  of  thy 


8o  Edalaine. 

Poor  father's  deeds  in  fairer  language  than 
The  world  will  do." 

And  Evelyn  would  say 
Unto  her  flock: 

"  Respect  thy  sire,  he  soon 
Will  be  himself,  his  losses  make  him  seem 
Unmindful  of  thy  wants.     Take  heart  and  do 
Thy  duties  each."     But  most  she  strove  to  make 
His  acts  appear  both  natural  and  right, 
And  they,  the  children,  seldom  saw  in  him 
A  strangeness,  sole,  that  oft  he  quitted  work, 
Nor  came  to  mark  the  hour  of  bright-eyed  noon, 
Or  sun's  decline,  as  once  he  never  failed 
To  do,  but  lingered  late,  or  never  came 
At  all,  though  mother  ever  found  excuse. 

*          #          *#*#•# 
'Midst  all  the  agitations  of  belief 
Within  the  vale,  and  changes  brought  by  them, 
Death  came  again  to  gather  home  a  soul, 


Edalaine.  8 1 

And  left  Dean  Brent  to  mourn  his  gentle  wife. 
He  bowed  before  the  grief  as  strong  men  do, 
And  hid  his  wound  afar  from  careless  eye 
Of  men.     It  seemed  but  yesterday  since  they 
Were  wed,  but  years  could  ne'er  bring  back  as 

much 

Of  quiet  joy  as  marked  these  peaceful  months. 
And  yet  he  sought  with  philosophic  mind, 
To  gain  some  little  good  where  most  the  lash 
Of  sorrow  touched  to  quick  the  quivering  soul. 
Elizabeth,  such  comfort  could  not  find. 
She  walked  the  earth  as  in  a  misty  world 
Of  blighted  joys,  and  duties  which  she  took 
Upon  herself  with  earnest  wish,  she  did 
In  slow,  lethargic  wise,  as  if  her  soul 
Refused  to  lighten  irksome  labor  with 
Impulsiveness.     The  springing  step,  the  smile 
That  mocked  the  sun,  the  glow  of  sun-lit  eyes, 
Were  gone.     Her  only  sign  of  interest 


82  Edalaine. 

In  life  was  shown  at  times  to  Edalaine, 
Who,  child  as  yet,  still  read  the  sadness  writ 
Upon  her  sister's  face,  and  crept  full  oft 
Within  her  arms  to  nestle  there,  and  lend 
A  silent  sympathy  more  deep  than  words. 
Dean  Brent  amidst  the  sorrows  of  his  own 
Sad  hearth,  who  saw  his  mother  fading  fast, 
Found  time  to  prove  to  Mistress  Evelyn 
The  worthiness  and  high  esteem  he  felt 
For  her,  and  tried  some  goodly  seed  to  sow 
In  mind  of  Andrew.     Sought  in  outward  things 
To  raise  some  interest,  as  ballast  this, 
To  vagaries  he  feared  e'en  more  than  yet 
Confessed  to  idle  gossipers.     He  urged 
Some  measures  to  retrieve  his  fortune  lost, 
And  staked  his  own  in  urging  this,  to  feel 
At  last  some  hope  that  all  was  well.     Then  signs 
Of  strange  and  fitful  vagaries  again 


Edalaine.  83 

Appeared,   and    these    more   startling   proved   to 

them, 

When  late  one  night,  returned  from  fierce  debate, 
He  sprang  with  dreadful  oaths  upon  his  child 
Elizabeth.     Her  blood  congealed  in  veins 
Of  ice,  she  could  not  scream,  but  given  power 
To  move,  she  fled  across  the  Common,  'neath 
The  stars,  without  a  thought  of  whence  her  aid 
Might  come,  and  saw  alone  athwart  the  night, 
The  gleam  of  hungry  steel,  and  felt  herself 
The  object  of  a  maniac's  hate,  and  he 
Her  sire! 

At  last  a  glimmering  ray  of  light 
Fell  straggling  down  a  narrow  wooden  stair. 
She  heard  the  grate  of  heels  in  hot  pursuit, 
The  pant  of  rage,  and  as  she  touched  the  stair, 
The  muttered  oath  seemed  close,  so  close  she  felt 
Hot  breath  upon  her  cheek,  and  shrank  against 
The  shaded  side !  • 


84  Edalaine. 

Come  hope !     Come  help  !     Alas, 
A  hand  is  on  her  hair,  the  knife  is  raised, 
And  roused  to  superhuman  effort,  shrieked, 
"  Help!  help !"     When  falling  at  the  feet  of  two 
Strong  neighbor  lads.     An  instant  more,  the  knife 
Is  wrenched  away,  and  Andrew  strongly  bound. 
But  all  that  night  and  many  more,  when  safe 
'Twixt  prison  walls  in  lieu  of  hospital, 
He  raved  with  incoherent  phrase,  and  when 
Some  questioned  why  this  awful  deed  he  sought 
To  do,  he  answered  proudly,  while  he  showed 
Upon  the  wall,  a  hand  which  grasped  the  world, 
And  which  with  hasty  stroke  his  hand  had  drawn, 
"  Hush,  am  I  not  the  great  I  Am  ?    Why  ask 
Me  then  of  deeds  performed,  for  as  I  gave 
I  take,  so  question  none  !" 

For  months  he  lay 

In  prison  chains,  nor  wife  nor  faithful  friends 
Had  means  or  pow'r  to  save  him  this.     His  mind 


Edalaine.  85 

Took  flight  in  fancies  that  when  spoken,  seemed 
The  words  of  one  whose  wisdom  was  above 
The  ken  of  common  men,  and  not  of  one 
Whose  mind  had  lost  its  equipoise. 

At  last 

Set  free  he  walked  abroad  to  meet  the  sun 
Of  spring.     The  past  forgotten,  sane  he  seemed, 
And  kindlier  man  in  all  the  land  could  not 
Be  found.     Long  hours  he  spent  in  solitude  ; 
All  nature's  creatures  followed  him,  nor  turned 
Away  unnoticed.     Shy  at  first,  the  boys 
Found  he  could  make  their  whistles  best,  could  fly 
A  kite  that  failed  all  other  hands,  till  last 
Not  few  but  all  the  children  made  of  him 
Their  confidant,  and  spent  full  many  a  day 
In  climbing  through  the  glens,  in  weaving  flowers 
For  wreaths,  while  he  wove  words  in  fairy  tales, 
For  Andrew  had  a  poet's  heart,  and  they 
Had  each  a  heart  of  youth,  and  youth  to  those 


86  Edalaine. 

Who  understand  is  much  akin  to  realm 

Of  poet,  save  in  giving  speech  to  joys. 

Two  hearts  there  were  that  could  not  thus  forget 

The  past,  and  both  in  secret  bore  a  heart 

Of  fear  unknown  to  each  and  to  the  world : 

Elizabeth  and  Edalaine.     And  oft 

Elizabeth  awoke  at  night  with  brow 

All  moist  with  fright  in  dreaming  o'er  the  grief 

And  horror  of  that  awful  night.     The  child, 

By  nature  born  discreet,  had  never  told 

That  she  had  waked  to  see  the  self-same  night, 

Her  own  life  menaced  by  a  chair  which  fell 

Upon  her  mother's  form,  who  strove  to  save 

Her  sleeping  child  ;  nor  how  she  silent  lay 

In  trembling  fear,  to  hear  her  mother's  voice 

(The  father  fled)  thank  God  in  grateful  prayer 

That  he  had  saved  her  child  from  certain  death. 

And  now  that  all  was  past,  and  by  the  world 

Forgot,  the  terror  lived  within  their  hearts, 


Edalaine.  87 

Increased  the  more  by  secret  watchfulness. 
Yet  he  was  happy,  seemingly,  nor  felt 
Estrangement  in  these  gentle  hearts.     His  life 
Was  spent  in  sunny  idleness,  the  lads 
Aye  glad  to  find  a  nobler  head  to  lead 
The  van  in  rambling  through  the  summer  woods, 
With  acclamations,  hailed  a  sunny  day 
Proposed  by  Andrew  for  another  jaunt. 

One  day,  when  resting  'neath  the  forest  trees, 
With  twenty  merry  lads  about  his  knee, 
He  told  in  rambling  rhyme,  the  following  tale 
Of  ocean  shell : 

I'm  shaggy  and  brown  and  rough  to  see, 

As  imbedded  I  lie  in  the  mere  ; 
The  maids  would  scoff  in  merry  glee, 

If  you  named  rne  as  their  peer. 

I'm  shaggy  and  brown  and  rough,  they  say, 
In  my  weather-stained  house  so  round, 


88  Edalaine. 

But  its  hall  within's  a  shimmering  way, 
That  thrills  with  an  echoing  sound. 

My  pearl  walls  sing  songs  they  cannot  hear, 
Gleam  with  lights  they  never  can  see, 

For  once  the  ocean  in  secret  here, 
Gave  the  song  of  his  heart  to  me. 

We  sing  of  his  joys  the  livelong  day, 
And  sometimes  we  whisper  a  sigh  ; 

I'm  joined  to  my  wall  like  moss  to  clay, 
And  we  are  one,  my  wall  and  I. 

Yet  sometimes,  alas,  for  flesh  am  I, 
I  dream  of  and  long  for  fleshy  kind  ; 

I  would  they  might  feel  these  songs  pulse  high; 
Through  the  heart,  the  brain  and  mind. 

I  dream,  too,  oft  of  a  song  I  hear, 

From  a  mermaid  sad,  though  sweet  and  fair, 
Who  grievously  tried,  to  sigh,  sits  near, 

While  she  sings  away  her  care. 


Edalaine.  89 

Only  a  bubble  of  ocean  am  I, 
Alone,  alone, 

Alone  to  moan, 

Alone  to  die. 

My  true  love  went,  but  he  comes  not  yet, 
Alone,  alone, 

To  make  sad  moan, 

With  eyelids  wet. 

I  comb  my  hair  beneath  the  briny  deep, 
Alone,  alone, 

To  make  my  moan, 

Alone  to  weep  ! 

He  comes  no  more,  and  he  sends  no  word, 
Alone,  alone  ! 

Alone  to  die, 

My  prayer  unheard. 

Then  Andrew  told 
A  tale  of  storms  that  rose  in  foamy  rage, 


90  Edalaine. 

When  sea  gods  'twixt  themselves  made  war  for 

right 

To  rule  beneath  the  sea.     Then  ocean  stern, 
With  visage  dark,  the  chamberlain  of  his  court 
Bade  go,  and  herald  out  the  powers  of  all 
The  Storm  King's  mighty  court,  his  legions  vast, 
To  work  the  bane  of  those  who  had  disgraced 
The  sea.     "  What  though,"  he  said,  "  I  banish  all 
From  out  this  wide  domain,  I'll  not  submit 
That  we,  like  human  beasts,  get  right  by  might. 
Go  forth  and  make  it  known  to  them,  that  ne'er 
Again,  'neath  surf  or  wave,  shall  they  as  nymphs 
Disport,  but  grovel  'neath  the  form  of  man, 
Their  cares  all  know,  their  weal,  their  woe,  and 

make 

Of  life  one  constant  wage  of  war  for  pelf, 
Or  fame,  a  struggle  fierce,  as  it  shall  be 
Unending,  where  I  shall  not  reign  their  King." 
The  Storm  King  came,  the  storm  arose  to  drive 


Edalaine.  91 

Them  from  the  sea,  and  sinless  ones  like  those 
Of  guilt,  were  cast  upon  the  barren  shore. 
The  shell  whose  lonely  life  we  know,  like  these 
V/as  cast  on  burning  rocks,  and  wak'd  but  half 
To  conscious  things,  first  found  himself  alone, 
And  then — but  let  him  tell  the  tale  himself. 
"  I  woke  convulsed  with  pain.     A  burning  heat 
Consumed  my  frame,  and  thirst  my  tongue  clave 

fast; 

A  fiery  light  ne'er  seen  before,  my  brain 
And  senses  scorched.     No  sheltering  home  above 
My  head,  for  half  and  half  my  hall  was  cleft, 
And  I,  on  sands  that  stretched  afar,  lay  fixed 
Betwixt  two  rocks.     I  moaning  raised  my  eyes, 
When  lo  !  the  light  grew  soft  and  dim  with  tints 
Of  ocean  green.    Above,  long  streamed  fine  threads 
Of  silky  hair,  that  dripped  like  tinkling  rain, 
Refreshing  showers  upon  my  face,  as  from 
The  depths  it  came,  and  lo,  my  mermaid  queen, 


92  Edalaine. 

Whose  song  I  long  had  heard,  with  tender  looks 

Bent  o'er  my  head,  to  know  if  I  still  lived. 

"  Who  knows,"  she  murmured,  sweetly  sad, "  might 

not 

This  be  my  love,  perchance  these  troublous  times 
Changed  quite  to  form  and  shape  like  this?"  and 

sought 

To  give  me  aid.     When  all  at  once,  the  light, 
(I  heard  them  call  it  sun)  with  sudden  sweep 
Was  hid.     Deep  night  it  was,  and  then  'twas  day, 
But    weird    and    frightful    day,   that    scarce  had 

come, 
When   night  more  deep,  more  dense  and  weird 

returned. 

Reverberations  swift  of  thunders  vast, 
Had  deafened  all  the  land,  when  I  uprose, 
To  feel  some  new-born  form  had  compassed  me. 
"The  curse,  the  curse!"   the  mermaid  cried,  and 

reached 


Edalaine.  93 

Her  arms  to  meet  my  own  encircling  ones. 

The  curse  it  was,  but  joy  to  me.     One  form 

Were  we,  of  stature  just,  a  man  and  maid 

Become !     My  heart  beat  high,  I  thought  not  lost 

My  peace  beneath  the  sea,  but  linked  with  her, 

What  curse  would  I  not  dare  to  live  beneath ! 

She  called  me  "  Love,"  and  I,  who  loved  in  truth, 

Yet  let  her  dream  that  I  indeed  was  he 

She  mourned  beneath  the  sea  in  mournful  song. 

The  fearful  storm  that  gave  us  birth,  passed  by, 

And  nature,  who  convulsively  brought  change, 

Once  more  returned  to  calm.     Not  so  my  heart. 

It  beat  the  passion  music  of  my  soul, 

Forever  tuned  to  strike  harmonious  chords 

In  unison  with  hers.     Harmonious 

They  were,  for  o'er  and  o'er  we  sounded  still 

The  rhythm  of  our  love's  soft  cadences. 

Soft,  sad,  loud,  long,  nor  ever  dreamed  to  know 

A  weariness  of  them! 


94  Edalaine. 

Her  mermaid  life 

Had  been  an  idle,  careless  one,  nor  bird, 
Nor  bee  upon  the  wing,  so  free  as  she  ! 
But  now  she  toiled,  and  oft  I  wondering  sat 
To  see  the  busy  hands  at  household  task. 
In  time  was  added  unto  us  a  child, 
Nay,  two  and  three,  and  mother-heart  uprose 
In  her,  and  I  was  left  apart,  as  one 
Less  dear,  or  so  in  jealous  mood  I  thought. 
Then  friends  were  made.     They  came  beguil'd  by 

.grace 

Of  my  fair  wife.     And  more  and  more  each  day, 
As  led  by  jealous  fears  and  pride,  I.  sought 
To  hide  from  her  my  heart,  I  sank  into 
Myself.     I  mourned  again  my  ocean  life. 
For  harmonies  that  first  bewitched  this  life 
As  man,  in  jangling  discords  lay.     And  thus 
Again  I  turned  to  still  the  venom'd  sting 
That  ate  my  heart,  to  dwell  on  sounds  till  now 


Edalaine.  95 

Almost  forgot,  through  charm  of  blissful  love. 

To  hymning  of  my  shell  I  turned,  but  this 

Tuned  not  so  full.     Its  vibratory  round, 

Alas,  rent  quite  in  twain,  rang  not  to  me 

With  even  beat,  and  so  led  me  astray. 

When  sometimes  I,  half  pitiful  for  those 

That  heard  it  not,  th'  interpretation  sought 

Full  oft  to  make  their  understanding  meet. 

"  He's   mad,"  they  said,    "  with  this  his  broken 

song, 

Heed  not,"   to  wife,  and  she  ofttimes  would  weep. 
Then  I'd  give  o'er  and  dream  alone,  yet  knew 
She  watched  me  closely,  reading  random  words 
As  fancy  wrought  upon,  and  heeded  not. 
To  see  and  feel  this,  day  by  day,  like  foul 
Suspicion's  sting,  wrought  poison  in  each  nerve, 
Till,  madden'd,  often  to  my  heart  I  cried-: 
"  'Tis  worse  than  death,  my  life  indeed  is  cursed." 
Sometimes  I  turned  in  anger  on  my  young, 


g6  Edalaine. 

As  they  who  brought  me  ill.     Sometimes  on  her 
I  loved  above  all  life,  or  future  day. 
And  once,  alas,  that  I  should  live  to  tell 
The  shameful  trle,"- 

Just  here,  from  far  to  East, 

A  bell  pealed  forth  the  noon-day  hour  with  loud 
And  merry  chime,  that  reached  e'en  to  the  wood 
Where  Andrew  sat,  'midst  listening  lads,  his  tale 
Full  long  to  tell. 

"  Enough,  enough  !"  he  cried, 
"  The  rest  will  wait  our  lunch,  so  bring  it  forth 
And  we  will  feast,  while  he  our  hero  mourns 
Another  hour  his  wrongs,  and  then  we  '11  leave 
These  wreaths  aloft,  a  temple  raised  for  him, 
To  serve  as  memory  of  his  doom  ;  a  day 
To  live,  a  day  to  die,  an  emblem  fit 
Of  joys." 

And  no  mean  lunch  'neath  oaken  tree 


Edalaine.  97 

Was    spread    upon   the   ground.       Eggs,   opened 

through 

Their  orange  hearts,  on  couch  of  lettuce  crisp 
Nor  touched  as  yet  by  wine  made  sharp  by  aid 
Of  heat  and  air,  and  Andrew,  as  he  turned 
It  out: 

"  We  often  say  of  one :  he  sour'd, 
Look,  boys,  a  lesson  learn,  that  all  in  life 
Has  use,  and  so  with  man,  the  strong  keen  edge 
Of  life's  wine,  turned  by  adverse  winds  or  heat 
Of  burning  fires,  to  vinegar,  so  called ; 
Has  much  of  use,  as  when  his  life  ran  wine 
A  ruddy  stream.     Remember,  then,  for  this 
I  think  you  all  can  understand,  to  seek 
The  difference  'twixt  a  wine  that's  simply  sour'd, 
And  one  that's  worked  itself  full  clear  like  this. 
In  man,  whose  nature  sour'd  would  still  have  use, 
You'll  find  the  difference  is,  to  stand  above 
The  dregs,  Despair,  with  Courage  fix'd  on  brow 


98  hdalaine. 

And  heart ;  to  mingle  with  the  pure  and  good, 
Who  lend  sweet  grace  of  Heaven." 

Thus  Andrew  talked 

At  moments,  more  to  self  than  them,  and  still 
Prepared  the  meal ;  cut  down  with  even  stroke 
The  bread  of  snowy,  crumbly  textur'd  form  ; 
A  million  bubbles  kneaded  down,  then  set 
To  rise  again  in  finer  texture  still, 
And  then,  by  heat  caught  fast  and  welded  thus, 
In  snowy  piles  with  oaken  tinted  frame 
Of  bubbles  deftly  brown'd. 

As  Andrew  from 

The  baskets  laid,  of  chickens,  pies,  of  fruits 
Full  store,  the  elder  boys  a  fire  of  pine 
Beneath  the  kettle  made,  for  even  this 
Was  not  forgot  to  make  their  meal  a  feast. 
And  fumes  of  coffee  soon  arose,  a  King 
Could  scarce  withstand  had  he  recorded  vows 
To  keep  the  day  a  solemn  fast. 


Edalaine.  99 

A  new 

Freak  this,  of  their  old  friend  to  bring  a  lunch 
With  them,  and  so,  the  viands  spread  around, 
A  glorious  feast  they  make,  as  gladsome  lads 
And  merry  bent  as  ever  plunged  in  wood. 
The  eating  done,  he  sent  them  forth  in  quest 
Of  ferns,  and  buds,  and  flowers,  and  all  the  wealth 
Of  growing  grace,  "  while  I  the  while  will  take," 
He  said,  "  a  noon-day  nap  to  mend  my  wits. 
And  when  I  wake  I'll  make  resound  like  this, 
The  woods ;''  and  straightway  with  his  hands  up 
raised, 

A  mocking  blast  of  hunting  horn  with  skill 
The  echoes  of  the  wood  awoke. 

So  off 
They  troop  with  merry  laugh,  with  shout  and 

song, 
To  leave  him  there  alone.     "  How  still  the  woods, 


ioo  Edalaine. 

Their  voices  gone  !     The  leaves  themselves  droop 

one 

By  one,  the  bird  has  ceased  his  song!     Alone ! 
So  like  my  life,  alone  to  live,  alone 
In  silence  ever  !     Hearts  I  call  mine  own 
Wake  not  the  silence  of  my  soul  by  their 
Responsive  thrills.     Unknown  to  them  I  am 
But  mad  !     Why  seek  the  error  to  dispel  ? 
I'm  mad,  aye  mad  !     'Twere  better  then  to  be 
Insane,  than  such  blind  fools  as  they."     And  so 
He  mused  as  swinging  through  the  boughs  he  wove 
In  graceful  fashion,  wreaths  the  boys  had  made, 
Till  o'er  him  swung  a  fairy  bower  well  worth 
A  wood  nymph  queen. 

He  threw  himself  upon 

The  sward  which  rose  into  a  mound,  half  closed 
His  eyes,  or  upward  glanced  with  slanting  lids, 
To  rest  the  flight  of  sight  amidst  the  chains 
Of  trembling  flowers.    Full  long  he  gazed,  for  they 


Edalaine.  101 

Were  fair,  of  every  hue,  and  shape,  till  soon 
They  seemed  to  bend  toward  him,  to  nod  and  then 
To  smile.     Their  leaves  seem'd  wings  that  gently 

swung 

To  rhythm  of  their  song.     Their  stems  took  shape 
Of  fairy  feet  that  twinkled  in  the  sun. 
And  all  at  once  a  thousand  lips  to  words 
Like  these  broke  forth  in  sounds  of  ecstacy : 

Come  up,  come  up, 

Oh,  world-worn  soul, 

For  we  are  queens  of  the  air. 

Come  up,  come  up, 

And  be  our  king, 

Thou  art  great  and  we  are  fair 

Hither,  come  hither, 
We'll  bear  thee  up, 
To  thy  soul  we  are  akin. 
Hither,  come  hither, 


IO2  Edalaine. 

To  be  our  king, 

For  the  great  and  fair  are  twin. 

The  sun  peeped  down  to  touch  the  sward  where 

lay 

With  misty  eyes,  the  stalwart  frame  of  him 
That  heard  the  song.     A  handsome  form,  a  head 
Of  noble  shape,  with  rich  brown  hair  that  clung 
In  rings  close  link'd.     A  shapely  hand  he  raised 
In  sport  to  shake  negation,  then  in  words : 
"Ah  no,  my  friends  !     'Tis  true  I  wove  my  life 
In  web  of  fairy  texture,  told  my  griefs 
To  ease  my  heart,  while  telling  tales  to  please 
The  lads,  but  then,  no  credence  give  to  you 
That  woo  me  hither,  tho'  I  oft  would  flee 
The  weary  ills,  the  lingering  grief  that  life 
Doth  prove  to  me."   And  they  with  song  chimed  in  : 

Hither,  come  hither, 
You'll  learn  our  worth, 


Edalaine.  103 

Sole  when  we  dwell  together. 

Hither,  come  hither, 

We're  one  with  thee, 

We'll  hold  thee  our  king  forever! 

And  Andrew  started,  drew  his  hand  across 

His  eyes,  as  if  to  brush  away  a  sight 

He  could  not  full  believe,  to  prove  himself 

In  dreams.     But  still  the  voices  rose  and  fell 

In  treble  shrill,  or  sank  to  whisperings. 

"I  dream,"  and  then  he  struck  his  hand  against 

A  root,  to  prove  himself  awake,  and  drops 

Of  blood  oozed  through  the  tender  skin,  and  stood 

Like  crimson-coated  sentinels,  that  warn 

Life's  foes  'gainst  rude  or  hasty  entrance  through 

The  portals  of  his  palace.     Then  he  rose 

And  gazed  with  wilder  eyes.    The  drops  had  turned 

To  millions,  and  they  seemed  to  bear  the  light 

Of  scorching  mid- day  sun  !     Again  he  struck 

The  root,  and  shrilly  laughed  to  feel  the  pain. 


IO4  Edalaine. 

"  Sting  me,  demons,  sting  me,  one  and  all, 
I'll  conquer  yet."     And  then  a  sudden  pause, 
As  if  a  thought  had  stayed  his  hand.     "  My  God  ! 
Is't  madness?"     Then  he  muttered,  "  Ho  ho,  I'm 

mad! 

I'm  mad,  am  I  ?     We'll  see,  we'll  see  !"  and  lashed 
To  fury  by  accusing,  unseen  foe, 
He  seized  a  sapling,  tore  it  from  its  roots, 
And  then  another,  and  a  third,  until 
His  lacerated  hands  left  witnesses 
Of  tortured  flesh  upon  each  tree. 

At  last, 

His  fury  spent,  he  sank  upon  the  knoll: 
"  I'll  conquer  them,  the  demons,  see!"  and  held 
Aloft  the  saplings,  stripped  of  bud  and  leaf. 
The  flowers  bent  down  their  graceful  heads ;  the 

breeze 

Sighed  softly  through  the  trees;  a  bird  came  nigh 
Then  fluttered  through  the  bower  above  his  head, 


Edalaine.  105 

And  panting,  bleeding,  passion-pale  he  lay 
And  turned  his  restless  eyes  to  flowers  he  had 
Addressed.     Again  they  nodded  in  his  sight, 
And  once  again  their  voices  caught  his  ear : 

Hither,  come  hither, 

Nor  mock  despair, 

For  we  wait  to  crown  thee  king. 

Hither,  come  hither, 

And  sport  with  us, 

Oh,  trust  thy  weight  to  our  wing. 

Come  up,  come  up, 

Oh,  world-tossed  soul, 

And  sport  with  us  in  the  air. 

Come  up,  come  up, 

Oh,  world- wise  king, 

Thou  art  great  and  we  are  fair. 

The  pallor  deepened  on  his  brow,  his  eyes 


106  Edalaine. 

Grew  sombre  as  he  listened  to  the  words, 
And  now  forgetting  still  to  answer  them, 
He  saw  them  nearer,  nearer  come,  till  they 
Had  bent  so  low,  their  wings  caressed  his  face. 
Their  breath  bedewed  his  brow,  and  still  he  gazed 
With  eyes  dilated  in  their  disk  of  blue, 
Till  arms  of  fairy  forms,  of  endless  hues 

Outstretched  encircled  him.     Then  all  was  dark 
****** 

Deep  in  the  woods  the  boys  had  met  to  fight 
A  mimic  tournament,  and  crowned  with  flowers 
The  victor  lad ;    when  through   the   woods   some 

said 

They  heard  friend  Andrew  call  with  thrilling  sound 
Of  horn.     Some  said  it  was  the  owl's  hoarse  cry, 
In  frightened  daylight  dream.     At  last,  with  one 
Accord  they  turned  to  seek  the  spot  they  left 
At  zenith  sun,  to  weight  themselves  with  flowers. 
They  spied  from  far  the  bower  raised,  and  ran 
With  speedy  steps  to  cast  their  sweets  of  fern 


Edalaine.  107 

And  buds  before  the  temple  raised  to  love. 

The  first  to  reach  the  odorous  arch,  a  shriek 

Sent   up  to  Heaven,  then  turned  with  wild,  white 

face, 

To  hide  his  sight  in  brother's  breast,  and  shake 
With  fear.     Another  came,  then  fled  tow'rd  home, 
Nor  stayed   to   know  the  worst.     The  next  that 

gazed, 

Fell  on  the  grass,  while  others  came  to  look, 
Transfixed  with  fear.     Some  huddled  silently 
Around,  or  whispered  through  white  lips  :  "  He's 

dead!" 
All  dropped  the   flowers  beneath   the   form  that 

hung 

By  ropes  of  blossoms,  till  ne'er  conscious  what 
They  did,  his  feet  were  buried  deep  in  them. 
Then,  gathering  sense  of  what   they   shuddering 

viewed 
Like  frightened  deer,  when  startled  at  they  know 


io8  Edalaine. 

Not  what,  they  sped  tow'rd  town,  nor  scarce  could 

voice 

For   fright,  fatigue,  and  tears,  the  tale  which  told 
The  horror  which  had  crown'd  the  festal  day  ! 
Enshrined  with  fragrant  flowers  he  helped  entwine 
The   dead     there    lay !      Deep    shadow    fell    to 

shroud 

In  pitying  darkness  purple  hues  that  marked 
A  fate  as  cruel  as  a  felon's  death  ! 
His  latest  born,  sweet  Edalaine,  first  taught 
Of  death  by  grief  it  brought  a  sister's  heart, 
Now  learned  of  death  self-wrought,  and  longed  to 

know 

What  suicidal  death  could  mean.     First  longed 
With  fear,  and  then  with  fever'd  wish  to  gaze 
Upon  the  dead.     None  knew,  when  crept  alone, 
Awe-stricken  to  the  silent  room,  the  child, 
To  stand  till  childish  currents  of  the  heart 
Were  frozen  in  their  course,  by  whispered  words 


Edalaine.  109 

She  heard  from  watchers  there. 

"  A  pity  'tis, 

That  Edalaine,  the  babe,  was  ever  born  ! 
For  surely  she  must  bear  within  her  veins 
The  fatal  legacy  that  wrecks  the  mind, 
And  soon  or  late  must  wake  a  maniac." 
"  You  think  that  Edalaine  is  born  to  fate 
So  dire?"     "  Aye,  think  I  so  of  Edalaine, 
Or  that  of  children  she  may  bear." 

The  child, 

No  longer  child,  with  white,  set  face,  went  out, 
And  later,  asked  a  neighbor  girl  to  tell 
Her  what  could  mean  a  maniac.     The  girl 
A  moment  paused,  then  told  the  worst  she  knew, 
Told  all  the  word  implied,  and  cited  acts 
That  Edalaine  failed  not  to  recognize 
As  those  of  her  own  sire.     And  yet  she  seem'd 
Unconscious  of  the  likeness  drawn,  nor  spoke 
Nor  questioned  of  the  girl  more  than  she  gave 


1 10  Edalaine. 

In  voluntary  clearance  of  the  first 
Demand.     And  later,  listening  to  the  sound, 
As  fell  the  earth  into  his  grave,  she  gazed, 
And  whispered  to  herself  without  a  tear : 
"  And  must  I  die  a  maniac  ?" 


BOOK  III. 

The  ling'ring  summer  passed  and  like  the  grace 
Lent  tree  and  flowers,  so  brought  to  Edalaine 
A  subtle  charm  of  face  and  form  quite  new, 
And  if  one  felt  her  smiles  were  rarer  grown, 
And  that  a  touch  of  sadness  lingered  there, 
She  was  no  less  a  winning  maid  that  crept, 
Before  one  knew,  deep  in  the  hearts  of  all. 
'Midst  simple  country  folk  and  village  ways, 
Beloved  by  all,  sweet  Edalaine  lived  much 
.  Within  herself,  amidst  the  farmer's  maids 
Seemed  nothing  more  than  they,  except  to  win 
The  more  of  love,  and  yet,  unknown  to  them 

And  to  herself,  a  spirit  emanant 

[ml 


112  Edalaine. 

About  her,  seemed  to  breathe  an  atmosphere 

Peculiar  to  herself,  now  gay,  now  sad, 

And  here  existence  took  upon  itself, 

An  ideal  beauty  all  its  own, — the  trees, 

The  sunshine,  birds  and   flow'rs,  breathed  subtle 

truths, 

In  language  eloquent — they  filled  her  soul 
With  melodies  that  sung  themselves  within 
Her  heart,  in  cadences  of  youthful  joy. 
From  sun-dipped  clouds  she  gathered  quiet  peace. 
The  lark  woke  action  crowned  with  hope  and  joy, 
The  dew-kissed  daisies,  trembling  at  her  feet, 
Taught  bright  humility  and  cheerfulness, 
When  patience  tried. 

Ah,  who  that  has  not  lived 
Up-borne  by  poets'  dreams,  who  has  not  seen 
In  rock  and  fern,  the  air  itself,  the  signs 
Of  beauty  there,  knows  not  of  earth  one  half 
Its  worth,  nor  tastes  of  Heaven  its  joy  ! 

The  flock 


Edalaine.  113 

Of  Evelyn,  of  which  she  was  the  last, 

Had  been  divided,  two  had  gone  to  homes 

Provided  them  by  loving  hearts  and  hands — 

Though  over-young  to  wed,  good  Evelyn 

Had  given  o'er  to  pleadings  which,  at  least, 

Held  better  reasoning  than  she  could  find 

To  make  delay.     Their  choice  had  not  been  ill. 

Two  others  found  a  sheltering  home  with  him 

Who  first  foresaw  the  coming  cloud  and  bade 

Dame  Evelyn  relie  on  him.     His  wife 

Was  thrifty,  wise  and  provident,  and  taught 

Them  lessons  which  they  treasured  for  a  life. 

And  one  had  gone  to  teach  a  village  school. 

But  Edalaine  remained,  so  now  their  home 

Was  broken  up,  Elizabeth  had  brought 

Them  home  to  chase  from  off  her  heart  the  shades 

Of  memory.     Well  medicined  her  heart 

From  earlier  wounds,  in  minist'ring  to  those 

She  loved  and  with  them  bearing  living  grief. 


114  Edalaine. 

One  day,  when  years  had  wrapped  about  her  past 
Its  pitying  mantle,  like  the  green  of  moss 
That  hides  upon  a  lofty  tree  the  wound 
A  cruel  woodman's  axe,  or  quivering  flash 
Of  lightning  which,  not  near  enough  to  blast 
Has  cut  away  some  growing  limb,  one  came 
Who  loved  her  as  a  sister  ere  they  each 
Had  learned  the  meaning  sorrow  bears,  and  begg'd 
In  noble  phrase  she'd  lay  aside  her  grief, 
And  wake  to  earnest  love  he  offered  her, 
•  Dean  Brent  had  learned  to  prize  her,  with  a  love 
Not  born  in  haste  and  sued  for  its  return. 
She  paled  in  quick  dismay  in  answ'ring  him, 
She  had  not  dreamed  that  he  could  think  of  her 
In  such  a  way.     'Twas  wrong  perhaps,  she  loved 
Him  more  than  she  had  dreamed,  she  owned,  but 

too 

She  saw  her  mother  fading  day  by  day, 
The  toil  and  care,  the  grief  and  pain  had  done 


Edalaine.  115 

Their  work.    "  Too  soon,  alas,  we'll  mourn  her  loss, 
And  then,  I  still  must  live  for  Edalaine. 
I  feel  within  myself,  life  holds  for  her 
A  work  outside  the  routine  of  the  lives 
We  all  have  led,  and  I  would  be  her  shield 
And  spare  her  useless  struggles  she  would  meet." 
"  But  think  you,  then,  without  the  ills,  one  learns 
So  well  their  power,  their  breadth  of  intellect?" 
"  'Tis  like,  some  minds  do  not,  but  one  so  keen 
To  feel  the  ills,  so  quick  to  read  the  hearts 
Of  men,  can  rise  to  highest  plains  of  thoughts. 
Can  wisdom  gain — of  life  can  know  its  best 
And  worst,  while  seeing  more  and  living  less 
Of  pain." 

"  And  so  you  think  it  wise  to  spare 
Your  sister  griefs,  and  shield  from  her  of  life 
Its  tragedies? — " 

"  Ah  me,  I  think  her  life 
Was  born  a  tragedy,  and  I  foresee 


u6  Edalaine. 

Alone  in  occupation  sure  escape 

From  conscious  knowledge  on  her  part  of  this." 

"  But  why,  Elizabeth,  could  we  not  wed, 

Could  you  not  trust  to  me  a  tithe  of  this, 

Your  self-impos6d  task  ?"    "  Nay,  nay,  good  friend, 

You  do  not  understand.     Your  own  desires 

Impel  you  toward  a  higher  work  and  aim 

Than  here  you'll  find  ;  how  then  can  I  be  yours 

And  follow  you  without  neglecting  them  ? 

"  I'll  stay,  Elizabeth  ;  the  sacrifice 
Would  still  be  small !" 

"  And  trammel  intellect 

To  gain  a  wife  ?     Nay,  nay,  my  friend,  be  wise  ; 
The  aspirations  crushed  for  lesser  joys 
Undo  the  higher  meanings  of  our  lives  ; 
Such  wish,  such  love,  is  beautiful  as  true, 
But  once  we  find  within  ourselves  some  way 
To  lofty  thoughts  or  deeds — first  do  our  best ; 
Then  comes — if  such  our  fortune's  kind  decree — 


Edalaine.  117 

Some  recompense  in  homely  joys  of  life." 

"  Elizabeth,  you  shame  my  weaker  heart 
With  lofty  reasoning!" — but  still  he  sought 
In  phrase  of  deep  impassioned  love  to  gain 
Some  hope  of  hither-coming  days  of  joy. 
"  I  pray  you  cease,  dear  friend,"  she  said  at  last ; 
"  Divided  hearts  can  do  no  perfect  work. 
Inevitable  choice  be  ours.     The  sting 
Of  severance  will  afford  a  better  spur 
Than  idle  wishes  to  complete  the  task 
That  may  demand  our  lifetime." 

So  it  was 

That  he  with  aching  heart  had  ceased  his  suit, 
And  now  had  toiled  three  years  in  foreign  lands. 
And  Edalaine  dreamed  not  of  sacrifice 
So  nobly  made  in  her  behalf.     Her  mind 
Engrossed  in  study,  days  were  all  too  short ; 
And  when,  escaped  from  school,  what  dreams  were 
hers! 


ii8  Edalaine. 

Not  those  of  other  girls,  but  hopeful  dreams 

Of  future  usefulness,  a  life  outside 

Herself;  and  so  she  seemed  to  live  all  joys  ; 

The  joys  of  love  and  innocent  delights, 

Of  youth,  and  girlhood,  seemed  to  her  but  gifts 

That  soon  must  pass  from  out  her  life  ;  nor  yet 

Was  this  a  painful  thought. 

"  My  days/'  she  said, 

"  Shall  be  so  filled  with  care  for  others  that, 
I  scarce  shall  know  my  own  has  griefs  or  need 
Of  sympathy."     She  never  dreamed  that  years 
Might  bring  her  happiness  untold  ;  too  deep, 
The  shade  of  others'  sorrows  marked  her  heart ; 
She  only  sought  to  find  some  solace  'midst 
A  life  of  heavy  cares.     Her  cheerful  heart 
Made  no  demands,  and  caught  each  passing  ray 
Of  pleasure  as  a  blessing  sent. 

At  last 
The  routine  of  her  school-days  reached  their  end, 


Edalaine.  119 

The  days  in  which  to  choose  a  fitting  path 

In  life,  or  failing,  live  to  toil  and  drudge. 

Not  only  now  had  thoughts  of  this  grave  choice 

Waked  in  her  mind,  for  she  had  dreamed  betwixt 

The  pages  of  her  books,  and  each  new  dream 

Took  shape  again  in  one  that  lured  her  most. 

Long  time  had  lived  the  thought,  when  late  one 

night, 

As  seated  near  Elizabeth,  she  spoke. 
For  many  moments  both  had  watch'd  the  shapes 
Of  ruddy  embers  glow  and  fall,  and  each 
Had  added  fancies  to  their  shape. 

"  I  fear," 

The  younger  said,  "  the  ambition  that  I  prize 
Above  all  others,  dear,  will  disappoint 
Your  heart ;  for  surely  rumors  of  the  world, 
Which,  prejudic'd,  oft  reach  us  here,  have  sown 
Their  seed  within  your  mind  as  well  as  that 
Of  simpler  folk.     I'd  spare  you  this,  but  still 


1 20  Edalaine. 

In  you  I  know  that  reason  governs  more 

Than  aught  of  idle  prejudice  could  do, 

Or  narrow-minded  rule. — I  ask  you  then, 

My  sister,  tell  me  if  you  think  it  right 

To  stifle  in  our  hearts  the  brave  response 

Of  those  emotions  deep  and  grand,  that  like 

The  sweep  of  ocean  wave,  surge  through  the  soul 

When  waked  by  magic  touch  of  nature's  truths 

Or  human  woes  we  see  in  daily  life? 

Some  men  there  are  who  crush  emotions  back 

Upon  the  heart  till  naught  that's  pure  remains 

To  quicken  pulse,  or  waken  in  the  soul 

A  sympathetic  chord  of  quick  response. 

The  world's  becoming  dead  in  soul,  when  hearts 

Should  echo  each  to  each  like  harps  well  tuned ; 

Each  joy  be  doubled  by  the  changes  rung, — 

Our  sadness  meet  a  softened  gleam  of  hope, 

Through  sympathy  with  those  who  greater  griefs 

Have  known.     And  so,  dear,  be  not  grieved  that  I 


Edalaine.  121 

Confess  I  feel  that  nothing  could  my  days 

More  nobly  occupy  than  touching,  on 

The  mimic  stage  of  life,  the  hearts  of  men, 

To  bid  them  see  in  imitations  just, 

The  tragic  woes  of  men,  wherein  the  griefs 

Of  others  match  their  own  at  last ;  since  things 

We  look  upon  leave  more  impress  than  those 

We  read.     Some  hearts,  mayhap,  unused  to  woes, 

Will  thus  be  stirred  from  out  the  sluggish  depths 

Of  pleasures  vain,  to  turn  and  think, — be  moved 

To  somewhat  more  intense  of  daily  life, 

Than  parrot-like  to  copy  sole  the  weak 

And  listless  routine  of  a  life  we  know 

To  lux'ries  given." 

"  Think  you  then,  my  child, 
The  stage  so  nobly  plann'd  to  work  out  good, 
Not  ill  instead  ?     We  have  been  taught  in  spite 
Of  all  the  breadth  of  thought  our  elders  claimed 
The  stage  is  blame  to  those  who  walk  its  boards." 


122  Edalaine. 

"All  that  I  know  and  feel.     Who  dares  to  face 
The  ordeal  must  live  down  reproach  from  those 
Who  will  not  follow  what  I  can  but  deem 
Its  noble  ends." 

"  You  may  be  right,  my  child, 
I  dare  not  say, — indeed  I  could  but  grieve 
To  see  you  choose  a  life  that  brings  such  lures 
Of  ill — but  only  promise  me  to  wait 
Until  we  seek  advice  of  those  who  know 
And  can  advise.    I'll  write  our  friend  Dean  Brent." 

'Elizabeth  took  pen  in  hand  at  once 
To  write  the  letter,  telling  him  therein, 
While  touching  ne'er  upon  their  past,  concise 
And  clear,  her  fears  and  hopes. 

"  For  aid,"  she  came. 
Would  he  advise  her  what  was  best  to  do  ? 

A  weary  waiting  'twas  to  Edalaine, 
The  coming  word  from  him  who  linger'd  still 
On  foreign  soil. 


Kdalaine.  123 

"  Make  no  mistake,"  he  wrote. 
"  Remember  this,  that  while  some  inward  sense, 
Some  inspiration  of  the  heart  doth  lead 
Our  choice  in  life — if  left  with  us  to  choose 
What  best  we  can  fulfill,  there's  much  at  stake. 
Not  inspirations  must  we  trust  alone, 
But  sense  of  those  requirements  which  are  meet 
For  our  success. 

"  Say  to  her  this,  I  beg  ; 
Her  noble  purpose  fills  my  heart  with  pride, 
And  though  she  failed  'twere  nobly  done  to  fail 
Through  purposes  so  pure,  not  pride ;  but  ask 
Herself,  if  well  she's  weighed  the  needs  within 
Herself  to  bring  success.     Think  not  my  words 
Lack  sympathy.     The  great  upon  the  stage 
Must  join  rare  traits  of  person  and  of  mind  ; 
Presence  must  lend  its  charm,  the  soul  its  pow'r. 
Deep  readers  of  the  human  mind  alone 
Can  know  each  phase  of  life  and  live  them  o'er. 


124  Ed  a  I aine. 

Ideal  imaginings  must  weave  about 

A  simple  phrase,  a  world  of  thought,  and  wake 

x 
A  revelation  in  the  hearts  of  those 

Who  listen  and  behold.     Historians  they, 
To  bring  before  the  world  its  past,  in  true, 
Unsullied  spirit  of  old  time.     And  here 
They  need  not  thought  alone,  but  all  the  power 
Of  philosophic  minds. — Weigh  well  the  case, 
And  if  of  mind  the  same,  let  nothing  be 
Undone  to  add  to  talents  heaven-born, 
The  lustre  culture  only  gives.     For  this, 
Why  not  risk  all,  to  come  abroad  where  art 
Becomes  of  nature's  self  the  counterfoil, 
Why  not  at  least,  seek  first  such  paths  of  life 
As  may  lead  surely  toward  the  end  in  view  ? 
In  this  maturer  world  true  art  matures, 
And  trusts  itself  to  no  such  meteor-like 
Success  as  in  our  land  is  hailed  outright 
As  heaven-descended  genius,  but  incurs 


Edalaine.  125 

A  speedy  fall,  or  lives  by  tolerance, — 
The  mirage  where  small  talents  disappear." 

Ambition  oft  makes  exiles  of  us  all, 
Or  duties  which  we  take  upon  ourselves, 
To  Edalaine  there  seemed  no  other  choice, 
Content  that  others  blessed  her  good  intent 
It  had  not  long  discouraged  her  to  feel 
She  stood  alone  with  this  consent  denied. 
A  month  of  preparation  passed  ;  farewells 
With  God-speed  from  a  score  of  friends  they  go 
And  side  by  side  upon  the  steamer's  deck, 
A  week  from  inland  home,  the  sisters  stand 
To  see  their  native  shore  recede  from  view. 
A  saddening  sight  'twould  seem  to  timid  hearts, 
But  then  ambition  ever  has  a  wing 
That  skyward  gleams,  regardless  of  the  clouds; 
And,  we  must  not  forget,  they  bear  with  them, 
A  wealth  of  memories, — the  saddest  ones 
To  be  through  future  years  a  tender  joy  ; 


1 26  Edalaine. 

'Twas  something  sacred  to  have  known  their  grief ; 
For  grief,  when  poignant  sorrow  yields  to  time, 
Exults  in  new-born  strength,  although  at  first 
The   stricken   heart   seemed    robbed   of   pow'r  to 
strive. 

"  I  have  forgot  my  past  "  in  vanity 
Says  he,  whose  faults  like  giant  ogres  haunt 
His  steps, — "  I  have  no  past,  it  is  a  blank  ; 
We  live  but  in  the  present  hour  ;  'tis  here 
We  find  our  happiness,  defeat,  or  death." 
Blind  fool !     His  deeds  themselves  belie  the  words. 
Why  holds  he  secret  enmity  toward  one, 
Or  swears  revenge  the  sweetest  earthly  joy  ? 
What  subtle  chain  now  galls,  now  bids  him  smile 
In  sheer  contempt  of  self,  that  lets  a  ghost 
Of  days  long  past  walk  side  by  side  with  joys 
He  fain  would  taste  to-day?     And  why  so  wide 
From  what  he  dream'd  in  proud  and  noble  youth, 
The  tenor  of  his  daily  life  ?    Alas  ! 


Edalaine.  127 

The  castle's  built,  the  rampart's  raised,  and  he 
With  welded  chain,  lies  prisoner  within 
The  walls  he  built  in  heedless,  reckless  haste, 
Not  dreaming  that  they  needs  must  stand  through 
out 

Eternity  itself.     And  can  he  boast. 
"  I  have  no  past — 'tis  banish'd  from  my  thought?" 
But  lightly  weighs  the  chain  that's  worn  from  choice, 
And  oft  its  strength  becomes  our  safeguard  when 
Our  castle's  rampart  trembles  'neath  attack 
Of  unknown  foes. 

And  so  the  sisters  turned 

With  hopeful  eyes  toward  eastern  lands,  their  hearts 
Awake  to  future  usefulness,  yet  sad 
With  weight  of  musing  that  for  them,  henceforth, 
Life  would  be  strange  ! 

Dame  Evelyn,  their  loved 
And  gentle  mother,  slept, — her  weary  heart 
At  rest,  and  yet  the  lives  of  both  were  filled 


128  Edalaine. 

With  presence  real  and  palpable  of  her  ; 
It  was  a  benediction  o'er  their  lives. 

At  last  they  ride 

Upon  the  wave  that  bears  them  far  from  home, 
And  thoughts  of  past  or  future  cares  are  now 
Supplanted  by  the  novelty  of  their  days. 
The  sea  an  unknown  world  to  them  ;  the  ship 
A  Naiad  fleeting  between  sun  and  wave, 
The  care  of  each ;  she  kisses  with  wet  lips 
The  god  who  bears  her  on  his  breast. — An  isle 
It  was  were  minds  are  brightened  to  their  best 
Retort,  where  soul  meets  soul  without  a  care 
Lest  these  swift  friendships  fail  the  test  of  time. 
Elizabeth  ne'er  saw  her  sister's  heart 
So  truly  filled  with  joyousness  and  mirth  ; 
Her  beauty  seem'd  to  gain  some  added  charm, 
And  brilliant  speech  to  serve  as  setting  rare. 
A  diplomat,  who  rarely  smiled,  perceived 
It  too,  and  oft  retort  waged  high  between 


Edalaine.  129 

The  two,  his  sternness  melting  somewhat  'neath 
Her  gaily  utter'd  words  whose  strength  gave  sign 
Of  something  deeper  than  the  passing  touch 
Of  lightly  uttered  repartee,  until 
He  bow'd  before  her  soul-lit  eyes  with  grace 
Of  pride  in  thus  confessing  that  his  powers 
Found  match  in  her. 

To  Elizabeth,  it  was 

A  revelation  marked  with  grave  surprise. 
"I  dreamed  her  still  a  child,"  she  mused  ;  "and  yet 
She  copes  with  intellects  that  challenge  all 
The  world !" 

Her  voice  which,  pure  and  high  and  clear, 
Had  often  waked  the  echoes  of  the  hills 
At  home,  rang  out  in  joyous  strains  uncheck'd 
By  warning  words  from  tutor'd  vocalists, 
That  voices  should  not  spend  themselves  upon 
The  empty  space  ;  and  so  unconsciously 
She  sang  as  nature  and  her  soul  might  prompt. 


T  30  Edalaine. 

The  shadow  of  her  life  was  not  forgot, 
But  hopefulness  that  now  her  aim  would  find 
Its  perfect  work  had  somewhat  soothed  her  pain, 
And  tears  no  longer  blent  their  cadence  with 
Her  song ;  and  she  herself  a  happy  maid, 
Seemed  sole  inspired  to  give  to  others  joy. 

At  eve  one  day  this  diplomat,  who  seemed 
No  stranger  now,  but  rather  cherished  friend, 
Said  to  her  gravely,  as  she  ceased  her  song, 
"  I  glean  from  what  you  say,  and  leave  unsaid — 
Excuse  the  seeming  freedom  of  my  speech — 
That  you  demand  fame  of  the  tragic  muse  ; 
Why  not  make  Song  instead  your  life  ?     Unless 
Perchance  'tis  not  yourself  you  give  to  art 
And  aspiration,  but  caprice  alone, 
Teasing  meanwhile  some  loving,  waiting  heart 
That  yearns,  and  waits  the  day  the  bird  will  turn, 
And  seek  the  cage  she  now  so  coyly  flees." 

"  I  then  have  reached  no  higher  in  the  esteem 


Edalaine.  131 

Of  Arnold  Deith,"  she  said,  "  than  that  of  weak, 
Capricious  womankind?" 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  said, 

"  Not  that — and  yet  all  that.     You  are  so  young, 
So  joyous  and  so  free  from  care,  I  must 
Believe  you  choose  a  path  in  art  that  claims 
A  life  of  toil  with  little  recompense 
Without  a  thought  of  what  it  may  portend ; 
For  certain  'tis,  your  choice  comes  not  from  vain 
Desire  to  claim  the  empty  praise  of  worlds, 
Nor  yet  from  disappointments  that  lead  some 
To  choose  a  walk  in  life  where  busy  scenes 
Help  them  to  bury  griefs,  to  hide  their  woes." 
His  earnestness  began  to  move  her  more 
Than  merely  words  he  spoke ;  she  felt  he  sought 
To  know  what  lay  beneath  the  gaiety 
And  mirth ;  he  sought  to  sting  her  to  retort 
By  words  less  just  than  true. 


132  Edalaine. 

"  Do  none  e'er  choose 

The  life  you  now  describe  in  dread  of  woes 
They  feel  may  come?"  she  said. 

"  In  morbid  minds 
Such  dread   mayhap   may   rise — but   why  should 

thoughts 

Like  these  become  a  guest  in  heart  so  light, 
A  life  so  young  as  yours  ?     What  fear  can  wake 
Within  your  heart  the  thought  that  life  will  prove 
Less  bright  unto  the  end.     It  lies  with  you, 
Where'er  your  fancy  leads  your  heart,  to  raise 
The  standard  victory,  and  claim  at  once 
The  citadel  that  sure  must  yield  to  powers 
Of  beauty,  youth,  and  intellect." 

"  A  truce," 

She  cried.     "  You  now  drop  words  of  diplomat, 
That  fall  like  sounding  brass  upon  the  ear, 
But  lack  the  soul  of  truths  that  reach  the  heart. 
And  yet  forgive  you  them  I  must,  since  not 


Edalaine.  133 

Too  weak  to  take  offence  at  raillery, 

Or  to  be  hurt  when  earnest  words  are  deemed 

Too  deep  for  puerile  natures  such  as  mine." 

"  And  are  you  then  unconscious  of  the  power 
You  soon  may  wield  o'er  hearts  of  men,"  he  asked. 
"  I  only  know  the  power  that  bids  me  seek 
To  voice  the  many  conflicts  of  the  heart." 
"  Ah,  then,  you  are  inspired,  and  will  succeed. 
But  think  you  not  this  need  you  feel  may  soon 
Complete  within  its  counterpart  become 
When  beats  your  heart  response  to  one  beloved  ?" 
And  here  he  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  gazed 
With  searching  earnestness  upon  her  face. 
"  I  ne'er  shall  wed,"  she  made  reply,  "  e'en  though 
I  loved.     That,  then,  can  never,  never  be." 
And  something   stern,  though  sad  of    voice  and 

mien, 

Seemed  then  to  check  desire  to  ask  her  more 
And  he  who  never  lacked  for  ready  words 


1 34  Edalaine. 

Could  find  no  speech. 

Just  then  her  sister  came. 
"  Dear  Edalaine,  do  sing  a  good-night  song, 
The  moon  is  playing  hide-and-seek,  and  soon 
Will  mark  the  midnight  stroke  of  bell." 

"And   what 

Shall  be  the  song  ?"     Her  voice  was  strange  to  him 
Who  stood  in  silence  at  her  side,  and  sent 
A  thrill  of  pleasure  through  that  heart,  unused 
To  yield  to  sudden  impulses.     They  both 
Were  moved  to  something  strange, — "  The  night," 

he  thought, 

And  she, — "  I  wish  it  need  not  move  my  heart 
To  say,  I  ne'er  shall  wed — a  doom  pronounced 
E'er  danger  nears.     I  have  not  loved  as  yet. 
Why  need  I  fear  ?     And  still,  O  God,  I  pray, 
Remove  from  me  the  power  to  love,  and  all 
Desire." 

Poor  child,  the  need  of  loving  came 


Edalaine.  135 

E'en  with  the  prayer,  as  if  to  mock  a  heart 

That  dreamed   this  life  were  meant  to  be  a  dearth 

Of  all  that's  fair  to  usefulness. 

She  sang, 

And  never  had  her  voice  held  half  such  charm. 
She  sang  as  if  it  respite  gave  to  grief. 
Her  sister's  tears  bespoke  a  wakened  past, 
Its  bitterness  and  grief,  while  others  felt 
The  spell  that  marks  ofttimes,  in  all  our  lives, 
An  epoch  never  more  to  be  forgot. 
As  died  the  thrilling  notes,  she  saw  alone 
The  silent  form  of  Arnold  Deith,  who  stood 
Apart,  and  never  turned  when  others  spoke. 
"Good-night,"  the  others  said,  and  then  aroused 
From  reveries  so  deep  to  wake  was  pain, 
He  said,  "  The  voice  speaks  truths  the  lips  would 

fain 

"  Belie."     Then  bending  o'er  her  hand,  "  Beware 
Lest  griefs  too  great  be  yours.    The  birthright  love, 


136  Edalaine. 

May  never  be  denied.     Though  passion's  strength 
Be  held  in  leash.     The  fiercest  storms  do  come 
When  nature  makes  resistance  'gainst  itself.'' 
And  then,  in  softer  tone,  he  said,  "  Good-night." 
You'll  sing,  and  hearts  will  wake  to  nobler  things 
Through  magic  of  your  voice — "  and  he  was  gone. 
Yes,  she  would  sing,  she  felt  it  so  herself, 
And  wondered  at  her  new  and  firm  resolve. 
His  words  were  half   command,  which  she  could 

not 

Resist,  and  would  not,  if  she  could  ;  and  then 
Besought  herself  to  think  more  light  of  one 
A  stranger  still. 

Long  hours  in  wakefulness 
That  night  she  lay,  then  slept,  to  be  disturbed 
By  phantoms  of  her  childhood  fears,  that  rose 
In  vivid,  fearful  forms.     She  saw  again 
Her  father's  death,  and  heard  them  say  once  more 


Edalaine.  137 

"  He's  mad," — and  then  her  dreams  more  fearful 

grew, 

Until  the  awful  dread  of  all  these  years 
Became  a  real  and  hideous  truth.     She  felt 
Its  dreaded  power  weight  down  her  every  sense  ; 
And.  impotent  to  flee  its  bane,  she  cried, 
"  Alas,  'tis  come  at  last,  I'm  mad,  I'm  mad  !" 
She  woke  in  agony  of  fright,  then  slept 
To  dream  again  its  horrors  and  dismay. 
She  dared  not  sleep  a  second  time  again 
To  feel  herself  a  conscious  being,  yet 
The  author  of  strange  deeds  that  were  beyond 
Control  of  will. 

When  morning  came,  she  looked 
With  startled  eyes  upon  the  face  of  those 
With  whom  she  spoke,  half  fearing  lest  she  there 
Might  read  the  knowledge  that  her  dreams  were 

real 
And  that  her  words  might  soon  reveal  to  them 


138  Edalaine. 

The  strangeness  of  unsettled  mind.     She  watched 
Her  words  till  Arnold  Deith  in  wonder  stood, 
And  said  within  himself,  "  How  cold  she's  grown 
And  proud, — dismayed  perhaps  because  I  read 
To  her  somewhat  the  fires  within  her  soul. 
'Tis  vain.     The  fires  that  smoulder  burn  no  less 
The  fierce,  when  adverse  winds  by  chance  lay  bare 
The  substance,  which  they,  hidden,  hold  in  bonds 
Of  glowing,  living  serfdom.     Yes,  she  thinks 
The  passions  buried  ;  hearts  well  veiled  are  dead. 
She  aims  to  be  a  marble  statue,  while 
She  acts  in  mimic  form  the  real  of  life 
Upon  the  stage.     Nay,  nay,  'tis  not  there  lies 
Her  power,  but  only  that  she  feel,  and  lives 
To  know  the  depth  of  soul,  the  noble  pride 
That  suffers  and  is  strong." 

How  far  from  truth 

And  yet  how  near,  were  musings  such  as  these  ! 
Unconscious  of  his  thoughts,  she  only  fled 


Edalaine. 

The  throng,  to  teach  herself  such  fears  were  weak 
And  brought  no  good. 

Sometimes  her  musings  chased 
From  life  its  worthiness,  and  pains  she  knew 
Were  meted  her  seemed  heavier  weight  than  she 
Could  bear,  yet  singularly  she  it  was 
Whose  tender  joyous  face  brought  smiles  and  mirth, 
Aye,  happiness  where'er  she  moved. 

One  morn 

Awake  at  dawn  she  wandered  to  the  deck 
And  walked  its  length,  before  the  sailors  came 
To  flood  its  planks  till,  white  as  snow,  they  gleam'd 
Beneath  the  glancing  sunlight  of  the  day. 
Afar  a  cloud  peeped  o'er  the  horizon, 
Then  gradually  unfolded  banners  white 
Of  black  and  white,  or  glanced  in  prismic  hues, 
As  it  uprose  to  catch  the  sun. 

Long  time 
She  gazed  upon  the  object,  till,  amazed, 


140  Edalaine. 

She  walked  across  the  deck  and  timidly 
Aroused  the  drowsy  watchman  who,  with  hand 
Upon  the  wheel,  was  deep  in  revery 
Or  mayhap  something  nearer  sleep. 

"I  beg 

You,  sir,"  she  said,  "  is  that  a  cloud,  or  do 
We  pass  so  near  enchanted  land  ?" 

At  first 

Surprised  he  follow'd  her  and  raised  his  glass 
To  sweep  the  broad  expanse  of  sea.     The  face 
Beneath  its  bronze  turned  white. 

"  Good  God  defend," 

He  cried,  "  enchanted  lands  were  best,  few  miles 
Away  and  bearing  straight  upon  us,  child. 
It  is  an  iceberg ! 

Shrill  he  gave  alarm, 

And  scarce  an  instant  passed  till  through  the  ship 
The  word  of  danger  rang,  confused  with  cries, 
And  men  with  stern  set  faces  gazed  afar ; 


Edalaine.  141 

Beheld  their  doom,  then  turned  to  battle  'gainst 
Swift  death.     No  holiday  diversion  this 
To  stand  aside  while  panoramic  fields 
Of  ice  moved  by. 

The  women  came  aloft 

And  huddled  'gainst  the  cabin.     Many  sobbed 
Forgotten   pray'rs,   as   toward   them    came    what 

might 

Have  been  a  splendid  palace  meant  to  bring 
Them  wondering  joy  instead  of  fear. 

Amidst 

The  agonized  throng,  that  only  wait 
While  others  work,  Elizabeth  with  calm 
And  cheerful  words  moved   here   and  there,  now 

spoke 

Of  hope,  and  too  besought  them  govern  fear 
That  men  might  better  work  to  save  their  lives. 
And  Edalaine,  as  if  this  glittering  mass 
Had  fascinated  thus  her  very  soul, 


142  Edalaine. 

Leaned  'gainst  the  bulwarks  lost  in  ecstacy 
Of  sight. 

On,  on  it  came  and  drove  the  sea 
In  fierce  gigantic  waves  that  bore  aloft 
The   ship   then   dropped   her  down   to   darkness, 

while 

The  towering  wave  she  left,  curled  o'er  to  throw 
Its  lash  of  bitter  brine  as  if  it  scoffed 
A  trivial  thing. 

Impenetrably  black 
The  palace   seemed,    then   through   some   broken 

niche 

A  cavern  vast  of  stalactites  it  shone 
With  thousand  gleaming  hues. 

When  Edalaine 

Was  roused  by  cries  about  her;  roused  to  sense 
Of  danger  to  the  ship,  she  felt  annoyed 
That  life  now  seemed  so  small  a  thing  and  fear 
Held  in  her  heart  no  place. 


Edalaine.  143 

Once  Arnold  Deith, 
Who   paused   in   passing,  drenched  himself  with 

brine, 
Snatched  from  the  deck  a  shawl  which  'round  her 

form 

He  folded  close,  and  so  an  instant  held 
Her  in  convulsive  clasp  and  then  was  gone 
Before  her  tremor  of  surprise  had  passed. 
Useless  skill  of  mariner!     Though  changed 
The  ship's  swift  course,  yet  ever  nearer  seemed 
This  moving  world  that  menaced  them,  and  like 
A  battle  from  afar  whose  musketry 
Resounded  with  a  deafening  round  of  shot, 
So  came  the  chill  reverberations,  drowned 
At  times  by  rushing  waves  that  deluged  them 
With  icy  foam,  or  rocked  them  in  the  abyss 
Of  waves. 

At  last  above  them  grandly  towered 
The  frightsome  thing,  and  as  they  sank,  all  knew 


144  Edalaine. 

The  coming  wave  would  dash  them  at  its  base. 
Down,  down  they  sink  in  furrows  of  the  wave. 
All  souls  not  faint  with  fear,  commend  themselves 
To  saving  grace;  a  curious  muffled  sound, 
A  shuddering  shock  ;  men  braced  themselves  like 

steel, 

And  women  hid  their  sight.     "  We  are  aground," 
A  skipper  said,  another  wave  that  drove 
Them  closer,  yet  they  were  not  freed,  nor  v/ere 
They  shattered  by  the  shock.    Above  them  loom'd 
The  glittering  green,  and  here  and  there  an  arm 
O'erhung  them  like  a  scaffold  grim  of  death. 
A  fiercer  wave,  and  they  were  wedged  between 
A  gleaming  fissure  that  an  instant  might 
Suffice  to  engulph  them  'neath  a  monument 
As  cruel  as  'twas  wildly  grand.     Loud  creaked 
The  frozen  raft,  and  thunders  shook  the  wave 
Beneath  the  ship,  and  groans  like  human  woes, 
From  out  the  glittering  caves  were  borne  to  them, 


Edalaine.  145 

Thick  shadows  fell  and  it  was  night  before 

They    dreamed     the    day    begun,    though    years 

could  not 

Efface  the  eternity  of  the  woe  their  hearts 
Had  known.     All  night  the  weak  ones  pray'd,  the 

strong 

Could  wait  on  God  unsyllabled.     Again 
The  morn  uprose  and  they  were  drifting  south, 
A  helpless  wreck,  now  held  by  giant  foe 
While  o'er  it  swept  the  lashing  wave,  enraged 
That  such   a   prize   be   snatched   from   out    their 

power. 

Oft  fear,  like  grief,  will  know  a  calm  and  wake 
To  strength  through  borrowed  hopefulness.     The 

ship 

Imprisoned,  bore  the  onslaught  of  the  waves 
With  small  alarm  of  ill,  the  worst  was  done, 
They  only  drove  her  firmer  'gainst  the  ice. 
And  now  in  deadly  calm  they  pray  and  wait 


146  Edalaine. 

Release  that  still  must  be  a  miracle — 

While  o'er  them  hung  the  cloud  uncertainty, 

The  urgent  needs  of  life  demanded  food 

And  this  in  rations  carefully  allowed, 

And  sleep — that  first  refused  to  dwell  where  cries 

That  seemed  the  spirit  of  the  damned  arose 

Where  thundering  roars  and  creaking  masses  rent 

The  air, — at  last  crept  o'er  the  grieving  hearts. 

And  like  a  monody  of  peace  its  roar 

Swept  through  their  dreams  like  sweetest  lullaby, 

A  solemn  thing  it  is  to  daily  dwell 

With  grim,  unpitying  death,  to  face  the  truth 

Bereft  of  every  subterfuge.     In  hearts 

Of  men  such  cleansing  fires  develop  traits 

That  bless  them  whether  life  return,  or  Heaven's 

Wide  gates  unclose  to  teach  them  spiritual  things. 

E'en  those  that  'gainst  the  irrevocable 

Do  battle  with  unbending  will,  become 

More  chastened. 


E da  lame.  147 

Edalaine  these  dreary  days 
Was  like  a  spirit,  bringing  hopeful  joy, 
'Twas   not    the    words    she    said,   the    hope   sh 

spake, 

But  resignation  that  illumined  all 
Her  face  with  tender  joyfulness.     "  Afraid  ?" 
"  Tis  nature  to  recoil  from  pain,  but  death 
When  once  accepted,  more  we  dread  the  ills 
Of  life,  be  sure  its  sad  uncertainties 
Are  worse  than  death." 

The  days  of  anxious  dread 
Wore  on,  already  they  had  drifted  south 
For  fourteen  days.     Meridian  suns  had  spent 
Their  force  in  vain  to  free  th'  imprisoned  ship. 
'Twas  midnight,  and  a  sudden  tempest  wak'd 
Around  the  floating  continent  of  ice. 
Its  ghostly  minarets,  its  towers  grand 
Stood  out  like  shining  marble  as  the  flames 
Of  lightning  swift  succeeding  each 


148  Edalaine. 

New  fear 
Clutched  human  hearts,  these  souls  now  used  to 

thought 

Of  death,  and  scarcely  was  the  danger  born 
Before  a  cry  of  fire  was  heard. 

"The  boats!" 

Vain  cry  !     These  once  reserved  for  urgent  need 
Were  useless,  wedged  between  the  walls  of  ice, 
A  hopeless  murmur  passed  all  lips,  then  ceased, 
They  now  were  used  to  hopelessness — a  pause 
Succeeded  as  the  flames  uprose, — a  calm 
As  if  the  elements  stood  still,  or  held 
A  consultation  with  their  powerful  hosts. 
Then  mightier  thunders  rose  than  mind  conceives, 
,  As  bolt  on  bolt  the  ice  king's  palace  rived 
In  twain.     It  parted  swiftly,  sweeping  back 
And  left  the  weak,  dismantled  ship  aflame. 
Affrighted  ones  sprang  o'er  the  sides  to  meet 
In  waves  an  enemy  less  dread  than  fire. 


Edalaine.  149 

But  Heaven  now  oped  her  gates  to  pour  on  them, 
A  deluge  that  no  flame  could  live  beneath, 
And  rocked  between  receding  cliffs  they  rose 
And  fell,  till  life  or  death  was  one  to  them. 
As  morning  came  the  waves  had  quieted, 
Yet  danger  was  so  near  that  men  who  lived 
Half  envied  those  whose  strife  was  o'er. 

Three  days 

They  drifted,  hunger  half  appeased, — devoured 
With  thirst, — when  joyous  cry  of  "  Sails,  ho,  sails !" 
Arose.    Strong  men  grew  weak  and  scarce  believed. 
A  woman,  Edalaine,  had  fainted.     Soon 
Confirmed,  the  eager  eyes,  the  haggard  cheeks 
Were  turned  to  watch  for  signal,  that  they  came 
Indeed  to  save. 

What  need  to  follow  them? 
Some  grieved  for  lost  ones,  scarcely  wishing  life, 
The  rest  resigned,  now  woke  again  to  life, 
And  brought  to  it  a  meaning  never  known 
Before  the  rod  of  Might  had  chastened  them. 


1 50  Edalaine. 

•**#•*##•*-:«• 

Two  years  had  looked  upon  the   world,  brought 

change, 

And  left  their  calendar  in  hearts  of  men. 
For  Edalaine  they  opened  such  a  wealth 
Of  lore,  such  joy  of  seeking  but  to  find, 
They  seemed  a  dream  of  paradise ;  bright  days 
Of  sunshine,  such  as  study  ever  brings 
Th'  enthusiast,  and  if  at  times  the  fear 
Of  future  ill  beset  her  tender  heart, 
The  thousand  occupations  of  her  life 
Were  sure  to  dissipate  the  thought,  as  oft 
The  victim  of  a  dire  disease  forgets 
The  doom  of  death. 

Dean  Brent,  the  same  old  friend 
Had  made  of  Paris  in  these  years  the  field 
Of  new  research,  and  famed  as  scientist 
He  stood  among  the  men  whose  works  had  moved 
With  wonder  all  the  world. 


Edalaine.  151 

To  Edalaine 

He  came  with  all  his  plans  for  future  good 
Unto  mankind,  and  she  with  trustfulness 
Into  his  ear  her  every  secret  poured 
Except  the  one, — the  hideous  nightmare,  worse 
Than  death,  which  came  so  oft  to  mar  her  peace. 
Elizabeth  had  wondered  not  to  see 
These  two  become  so  dear.     "  He  has  forgot," 
She  mused,  "  and  loves  again,  and  so  'tis  well. 
What  man  could  meet  my  sister's  eyes,  and  gaze 
Therein  each  day,  without  impassioned  love  ?" 
And  then  she  knelt  to  pray  for  blessings  on 
Their  love,  and  once  or  twice  took  from  her  desk 
A  faded  rose,  a  letter  marked  with  tears 
And  after  kissing  them,  stood  o'er  the  grate 
Irresolute,  for  something  stayed  her  hand, 
And  then  once  more  she  hid  them  in  their  place. 
One  day  he  sought  her  side, — "  Would  speak," 
he  said, 


152  Edalaine. 

"  Of  matters  which  he  felt  of  grave  import. 
He  seemed  much  moved.     Elizabeth,  as  was 
Her  wont,  was  calm  and  placid,  for  she  knew 
Full  well  of  what  and  whom  he  meant  to  speak. 
"  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  "  'tis  years  since  near 
The  village  stream  I  held  your  hand  and  lent 
My  thoughts    to  words  which  found  offence    to 

heart 

So  loyal  to  the  living  charge.     Sweet  girl ! 
She  now  fulfills,  and  more,  your  hopes  for  her, 
And,  like  your  love,  has  that  of  mine  increased. 
I  ask  of  you,  Elizabeth,  my  best 
Beloved  of  friends,  what  word  of  words  is  mine 
To  bear  the  one  we  both  do  love  ?    Your  work 
All  done,  you  sure  can  give  her  up,  or  else 
Consent  that  you  and  I  unite  in  care 
Of  one  we  both  do  love." 

"  Go,  say  to  her," 
Elizabeth  replied,  with  outstretched  hands, 


Edalaine.  153 

"  That  to  your  wish,  consent  I  gladly  give, 
That  to  this  end  I  daily  prayed  the  Lord. 
Not  now,"  she  gently  said,  as  he  would  kiss 
Her  brow,  that  paled  beneath  his  look,  "  not  now, 
Leave  me  alone  to  think, — it  is  so  new, 
So  sudden  come,  leave  me  alone,  and  go 
To  her,  whilst  I  compose  myself  to  think 
Of  dreams  so  bright,  thus  joyously  fulfilled." 
"  All  mine,"  he  said  to  Edalaine,  who  smiled 
Through  tears,  as  both  her  hands  he  clasped  in  his. 
"  Go  whisper  in  your  sister's  ear  what  most 
Your  heart  would   say.     She  needs  brave  words 

from  you.'' 

Not  loth,  she  softly  tapped  upon  the  door. 
No  answer  came  at  first,  and  then  she  spoke. 
"  My  sister,  let  me  in.     You  sure  will  hope 
For  me  your  door?"     And  soon  a  pallid  face 
With  heavy  lids  and  tear-stained  cheeks,  had  met 
Her  own. 


154  Edalaine. 

"  And  is  it  then  so  sad  a  thing 
The  being  loved  ?"  the  younger  said. 

"  Alas, 

Tis  giving  up  thy  care,"  she  sadly  said, 
"  Oh,  that  is  naught,  indeed,  it  will  not  be, 
I  ne'er  shall  wed,  you  know." 

"Will  ne'er  be  wed?" 
In  wonder  and  amaze  the  elder  asked. 
"  You  ne'er  will  wed,  and  still  accept  the  love 
That's  proffered  you  ?'' 

"  Ah,  no,  though  love  there  be, 
And  there  are  men  both  good  and  grand,  I  ne'er 
Must  think  of  love  that  brings  the  marriage  bond." 
"  Why,  child,  what  words  are   these  ?     I  fail  to 

read 
The  meaning  they  do  hide." 

And  Edalaine, 

Love-sheltered  in  her  sister's  arms,  replied, 
"  I  never  thought  to  tell  you  this,  to  grieve 


Edalaine.  155 

Your  noble  heart,  but  since  you  gave  so  much 

Through  love  of  me — for  Dean  has  told  me  all 

That  happened  long  ago — you  now  shall  hear 

The  secret  of  my  life."     And  then  she  poured 

Into  her  sister's  ear  the  tale  of  nights 

Of  torture,  grief,  and  fear  that  oft  beset 

Her,  spite  of  reasoning  powers  and  strength  of  will 

At  bitter  knowledge  that  to  her  must  fall 

The  heritage  of  woe  which  years  ago 

Had  rendered  them  both  fatherless.     She  told 

The    tale   that   reached   her   orphaned    ears,   the 

words 

That  burned  themselves  into  her  heart  and  brain. 
For  her,  she  learned,  must  love  e'er  be  a  book 
Closed  sealed,  or  else  must  bring  but  sacrifice, 
And  yet  love  stays  not  hence  by  force  of  will. 
"You  love?"  her  sister  said. 

"  Alas,  there's  one," 
And  blushes  crept  o'er  all  her  face,  that  looked 


156  Edalaine. 

A  rose  that  sudden  opes  its  petals  wide 
At  kiss  of  sun.     "I  could  have  loved,  I  think, 
Had  bitterness  not  frightened  me  for  dreams 
So  sweet.     And  now,  my  sister,  I  would  fill 
My  life  with  art. " 

"And  Dean,  knows  he  of  this ?" 
fl  Why  pain  the  heart  of  one  so  kind  with  griefs 
Like  mine  ?  'Twould  do  no  good." 

"  And  yet  'twere  right 
To  tell  him  all,  for  fanciful  alarms 
Are  these,  and  should  be  overcome,  my  child." 
"  That,  as  you  think,  Elizabeth.     If  so 
You  choose,  I'll  tell  him  all,  or  leave  to  you 
The  task,  but  let  it  not  cast  gloom  upon 
The  brightness  of  your  future  life."    And  then 
She  left  her  sister,  with  a  sigh,  and  sought 
Her  books  and  solitude. 

Her  sister  knelt, 
And  wept  again.     All  hope  of  joy  in  life 


Edalaine.  157 

Seemed  swept  away  in  knowledge  of  this  loss 
To  Edalaine. 

"  Weak  fool,  I  dreamed  to  spare 
Her  all  the  ills  of  life  ;  and  since  a  child, 
Though  walking  side  by  side,  we  two,  the  earth, 
I  never  knew  the  secret  grief  that  wrecks 
Her  life  !     Not  done  my  work.     'Tis  he  perchance 
Who  yet  may  teach  forgetfulness,  may  yet 
Convince  her  these  are  idle  fears  alone." 
A  little  later,  and  she  nerved  herself 
To  tell  to  Dean  the  story  she  had  heard. 
"  Dear  friend,"  she  said,  "  our  Edalaine  declares 
She  ne'er  will  wed.     Forgive  me,  then,  if  now," — : 
"'Tis  ever  Edalaine,"  he  said,  half  vexed. 
"  I,  well,  I'm  wrong, — you're   right,  the  more  my 

love 

For  you ;  but  if  she  ne'er  will  wed,  need  that 
Decrease  our  happiness?"  His  hearer  gazed, 
Her  heart  stood  still,  and  then  a  sudden  beat 


158  Edalaine. 

Seemed  near  to  burst  its  bounds  with  anger  stirred 

Her  veins  to  tingle  with  a  flood  of  fire. 

Had  he,  then  too,  been  tainted  with  the  curse 

That  fell  upon  Ceresco's  happy  vale  ? 

"  O  Dean,  can  ears  believe  such  words  as  these, — 

Your  happiness  ?    You  dare  to  ask  of  me 

My  child  to  be  disgraced  by  love  unblest 

By  ring  or  holy  wedlock  band  ?" 

"  Dare  ask 

For  love  ?     Elizabeth,  'tis  I  who  stand 
Amazed!     For  love  unblest  by  heaven?     No, 
A  thousand  times  I  answer  no  !     Your  love 
I  ask, — your  hand  I  beg  to  bless  my  life. 
Have  I  so  meanly  wooed  that  yet  you'd  yield 
To  Edalaine  all  life,  all  love,  all  praise  ? 
O  my  beloved,  let  all  these  years  to  you 
Be  witnesses  of  loyal  love.     To  you 
Alone  I  consecrate  my  life,  and  that 
Which  of  your  life  must  be  a  part." 


Edalaine.  159 

And  she, 

In  pallid  wonder,  struggled  with  herself. 
"  But — Edalaine — 'twill    break    her  heart.        She 

loves — " 

Then  ceased,  as  Edalaine  before  her  stood. 
"  Not  brother  Dean,  dear  sister  mine,"  she  laid 
Her  sister's  trembling  hand  in  his,  then  fled 
The  room  to  weep  for  joy. 


BOOK  IV. 

Then  marriage  bells  rang  out  their  joyous  chimes 

Of  hope  fulfilled.     To  Edalaine  they  brought 

A  sense  of  freedom  now  to  merge  in  art 

The  abnegation  of  her  love,  convinced 

That  naught  could  chain  her  to  domestic  life. 

Elizabeth,  her  faithful  friend,  had  found 

The  one  to  fill  her  heart  with  peace  and  love 

All  unaware  that  art  would  drift  the  child 

She'd  nourished  long,  so  far  from  home  and  love. 

Elizabeth  beheld  success  that  step 

By  step  she  gained,  and  was  content.     She  came 

And  went,  and  ministered  to  other  hearts 

The  peace  she  felt  new-born  within  herself. 

[161] 


1 62  Edalaine. 

Sometimes  unheralded  on  mimic  stage 

She  trod,  and  'midst  the  throng  a  face  awoke 

The  power  to  give  th'  interpretation  rare 

To  song,  which  marks  the  narrow  line  between 

The  great,  and  those  who  never  reach  beyond 

The   good, — that  touch,  that  floods  the   list'ner's 

soul 

With  thrills  of  exultation  to  exclaim, 
"Ah,  that  is   grand,  'tis    heart  that   speaks,  not 

voice !" 

At  such  a  time  some  wondering  ones  would  ask, 
"  Who  may  she  be  that  but  to-day  we  hear 
Her  voice,  and  hearing  her  revere  the  name 
Lately  unknown  to  us  in  art  of  song  ?'' 
While  listening  to  echoes  of  such  praise, 
She  smiled,  and    thought,  "  They  do  not  under- 

stand 

The  art  which  shrinks  from  title  of  itself, 
Avoiding  undue  public  praise,  is  wise  ; 


Edalaine. 

Lest  parts  not  moulded  to  a  perfect  whole 
Forget  the  ideal  realm  at  which  they  aim, 
To  bask  in  idle  luxury  and  vain 
Display."     Nor  would  she  yield  the  simple  means 
She  chose  to  reach  the  zenith  of  her  art, 
When    urged    by    worldlier    minds    to    seek    re 
nown, 

Nor  wait  till  fame  unsought  came  of  itself. 
While  now  Elizabeth  to  duties  dear 
Of  home  and  kindred  ties  lent  all  her  thoughts, 
She  sometimes  wondered  at  the  flight  of  time 
Since  last  she  held  her  sister  in  her  arms, 
To  note  with  jealous  eye  if  aught  of  change 
Had  crept  between  them  or  supplanted  love, 
And  youthful  purity  of  deed  and  thought. 
But  frequent  letters  marked  the  flight  of  time ; 
One  came  from  Rome,  another  Naples,  then 
Perchance  the  next  from  German  provinces 


164  Edalaine. 

Brought    greetings    filled    with    cheerful,    loving 

phrase. 

All  climes,  all  nations  that  are  one  with  art, 
Were  each  and  all  made  points  of  pilgrimage. 
At  last  she  wrote  of  Egypt,  and  was  gone 
Ere  anxious  love  could  pray  her  stay  near  home. 
And  she,  devoted  now  to  song,  thought  not 
The  world  too  wide,  nor  knew  that  they  who  wait 
Have  more  of  pain  than  those  who  do  and  dare. 
Somehow,  this  voyage  brought  to  mind  her  first, 
And  faces  rose,  with  power  to  move  her  soul, 
And  taught  that  nor  toil  nor  study  could 
O'ercome  the  longings  of  the  human  heart. 
The  sunlight  as  it  kissed  the  wave  seemed  that 
Which  filled  the  day,  at  sea  when  listening 
To  Arnold  Deith,  he  glowingly  in  words 
Had  pictured  her  the  Orient — Five  years  ! 
How  long  and  yet  how  swift  their  flight  had  been  ! 


Edalaine.  165 

And  he— had  like  forgot  the  "  little  girl," 

For  so  he  chose  to  call  her  then, — one  short 

And  hasty  visit  as  he  turned  from  France 

To  treat  with  Mexico  for  some  new  code. 

A  bantering  word,  a  smile  half  earnest,  then 

"  Good-by,"  and  when  she  thought  him  gone,  she 

felt 

A  weight  upon  her  heart  which  she  herself 
Could  not  explain. 

"  Good-by,"  he  had  returned, 
"  My  sister  would  God-speed  in  other  guise 
Have  granted  me,  since  death  treats  not  as  guests 
The  stranger  in  the  land  to  which  I  go." 
And  she,  if  power  of  eyes  that  woo'd  her  own, 
Or  glance  her  sister  gave  which  said,  "  Be  kind," 
Could  not  have  told,  but  speed  of  sister  then 
She  gave. 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,  and  bring  you  safe 
To  sisters'  hearts."     And  then  at  thought  of  them, 


1 66  Edalaine. 

More  eloquent  than  words,  those  orbs  fit  termed 
The  soul's  reflection,  screened  themselves  behind 
A  trembling  sea  of  tears,  which  rested  there 
As  if  resolved  to  wash  their  color  out. 
And  now,  each  breeze  that  blew,  the  gulls  that 

skimmed 

The  air,  the  shadows  on  the  waves,  the  songs 
Of  sailors,  or  the  boatswain's  call,  seemed  each 
To  wake  some  word  he  uttered,  or  his  glance. 
One  day,  while  dreaming  thus,  her  heart  stood  still 
To  see  a  child  that  played  about  the  deck 
Stand  heedless,  while  a  quickly  low'ring  spar 
Was  threat'ning  death.    With  cry  of    fright,  she 

sprang 

And  seized  the  fragile  babe,  that  screamed  it  knew 
Not  why,  as  oft  contagious  fear  is  worse 
Than  that  we  can  explain ;  and  Edalaine, 
Soothing  her  fears  with  tender  words  and  smiles, 
Soon  found,  reclining  in  her  chair,  "  Mamma," 


Edalaine.  167 

Where,  helpless,  pale,  and  sad,  she  sat  alone. 

Such  beauty  seldom  found  a  counterpart, 

And,  as  her  earnest  voice  spoke  words  of  thanks, 

Its  gentle  sadness  waked  in  Edalaine 

An  inward  sense  that  here  was  one  whose  need 

Of  strength  to  overcome  deep-seated  woe 

Was  greater  than  her  own. 

All  day  she  sat 

In  cheerful  converse,  or  she  read,  to  lead 
The  thoughts  to  outward  things,  nor  dared  to  show 
In  word  or  deed  the  sympathy  she  felt. 
"  Tis  strength  she  needs,"  thought  Edalaine,  made 

wise 

By  knowledge  of  the  human  heart ;  and  so 
Each  day  she  ministered  unquestioning 
A  mind  disordered  by  its  fears  and  woes. 
"  She's  stronger  than  I  thought,"  she  said  to  self, 
As  day  by  day  she  watched  the  efforts  made 
To  overcome  the  pressure  of  some  grief 


1 68  Edalaine. 

She  hid  from  human  eyes,  until  at  length 

The  child  began  to  droop,  and  soon  they  saw 

That  death  stood  waiting  for  the  breaking  threads. 

Within  the  mother's  frame  new  life  infused, 

She  silently  bent  o'er  her  child,  to  fight 

With  death,  nor  spoke,  but  looked  her  thanks  to 

all 

Who  came  to  aid,  or  bring  new-found  relief, 
To  Edalaine  she  clung  for  sympathy, 
And  oft,  when  agonized,  her  eyes  made  speech 
In  mute  appeal  for  hope  to  Edalaine, 
It  seemed  a  cruel  irony  of  fate 
That  one  who  suffered  much  must  bear  yet  more. 
But  come  it  must,  this  added  grief,  and  when 
One  night  a  murky  darkness,  blent  with  roar 
Of  wind  and  creak  of  mast,  when  waves  o'erswept 
The  vessel's  deck,  as  if  to  laugh  in  scorn 
At  man's  presumptuous  skill,  to  send  adrift 
A  mechanism  that  should  dare  to  cope 


Edalaine.  169 

With    might    of   stormy   winds,   the  last  thread 

snapped 

In  twain,  and  life  had  been  extinct  for  hours 
Before   they   dared   reveal   the  truth  to  her. 
And  when  it  broke  upon  her  sense  they  stood 
Amazed  at  wildness  of  her  grief. 

"  O  wind 

And  wave,  but  bear  me  from  this  wretched  life ! 
Sole  witness  of  my  guilt  sustain'd  my  life. 
Chained  to  my  sin,  I  lived  to  bear  my  cross 
Until  I  loved  it  more  than  life, — now  gone 
My  punishment  is  that  I  live  alone  1" 
In  ravings  such  as  these  to  Edalaine 
Somewhat  of  this  poor  creature's  grief  became 
Revealed. 

"  Poor  soul !  moer  sinned  against,  I  ween, 
Then  one  who  sinned.     With  time  alone  can  grief 
Be  overcome  and  peace  restored."      And  so 


1 70  Edalaine. 

When  strength  gave  way  'neath  such  a  strain  of 

nerve, 

To  Edalaine  and  to  her  maid  was  left 
The  friendly  care  she  needed  then.    Long  time 
She  lay  to  reason  lost,  and  Edalaine, 
Whom  sacred  trust  felt  words  which  came  from 

lips 

That  spoke  without  the  guard  of  consciousness, 
Tried  not  to  heed,  till  from  her  lips  there  fell 
A  name  that  made  the  pulses  of  her  heart 
Stand  still. 

"  O  Arnold,  Arnold  Deith,  forgive, 
Forgive !  nor  send  me  forth  to  exile  worse 
Than  death !"    And  then  her  words,  more  indistinct, 
Became  but  fitful  moan,  while  she  who  heard 
Sat  still  as  if  an  icy  hand  had  clutched 
Her  heart,  and  held  it  there  relentlessly. 
She  rose,  and  faced  the  night.     She  tried  to  think 
What  iancy  turned  this  blackness  o'er  her  heart. 


Edalaine.  171 

The  heated  cabin  ?    Then  to  chaos  turned, 
Her  thoughts  refused  to  question  or  reply. 
In  vain  her  vision  sounded  heaven's  dark  vault, 
And  naught  walked  with  her  there  but  agony. 
Her  vow  of  years  ago  came  back, — "  I  ne'er 
Will  wed,  e'en  though  I  love.     O  God,  deny 
The  power  to  love  and  all  desire !"      And  now 
Was  this  then  love  ?    A  maddened  jealousy  ? 
A  spectre  pitiless  to  haunt  her  steps 
And  laugh  in  wild  derision  of  her  woes  ? 
Oh,  bitterness  to  other  beings  spared ! 
Why  could  she  not  have,  lived  in  ignorance 
Of  heart-aches  such  as  these,  and  think  it  grand 
To  sacnnce  a  love  when  most  it  plead 
The  worthiness  of  object  loved  ?     But  no, 
Not  so  to  learn  at  once  she  loved,  and  he 
Had  another  wronged,  t'  unveil  the  niche 
That  held  the  idol  of  her  heart,  and  prove 


1 72  Edalaine. 

At  once  its  worthlessness,  was  punishment 
She  had  not  thought  deserved. 

At  last  she  turned 

And  sought  repose,  but  still  with  dumb,  white  face, 
Her  eyes  oped  wide  and  gazing  into  space, 
She  lay  all  night.      "  'Tis  past,"  she  said  at  morn. 
"  I  feel  no  grief,  no  woe  is  mine.     'Twas  night 
That  weighted  down  my  heart, — there  is  no  love. 
Ah,  well,  I  mean  such  love  as  I  did  dream 
Last  night."     And  so,  in  reasoning,  she  half 
Believed  it  was  a  dream,  but  facing  then 
The  suffring  stranger,  such  a  pity  filled 
Her  breast,  she  felt  a  consecration  pure 
To  ease  with  loyal  sisterhood  her  grief. 
Their  voyage  ended,  still  she  proffered  her 
Protecting  friendship  ;  paused  'midst  cares  of  art 
To  minister  the  balm  of  hopefulness 
Within  the  lonely  heart  she  felt  was  pure. 
And  witnessing  the  crowned  success  in  song 


Edataine.  1 73 

Of  her,  so  strong  and  yet  so  beautiful, 
The  weaker  one  oft  said,  "  Your  beauty  grows, 
Dear  Edalaine,  with  loving  care  you  give 
Your  work.     Might  I  but  fill  my  life  with  such 
A  glorious  task  'twere  yet  methinks  less  sad 
To  live  ;  but  even  voice  has  been  denied 
To  me,  and  worthlessly  my  life  drifts  on." 

The   singer  sighed.     "  Ah,  yes,  it  lightens 

grief 

To  work,  but  you  were  made  to  lighten  toil 
Of  others;  there  alone  beside  the  hearth, 
Your  work  is  found."     And  as  the  other  paled 
And  shivered,  hearing  hopeful  words  like  these, 
The  speaker  added,  "  Yes,  I  know  you  think 
Them  lost  for  aye  ;  but  mark  my  promises, — 
'Tis  better  be  the  person  wronged  than  do 
Another  wrong." 

"  Alas,  alas,  no  more, 
I  pray,  there  is  no  hope  for  me,  no  hope ! 


1 74  Edalaine. 

The  very  heavens  stand  appalled  at  sin 

Like  mine."    And  Edalaine.  who  sought  to  cheer, 

Had  made  as  one  is  prone,  the  heart  more  sad. 

"  Forgive  me,  Geraldine,"  she  said,  "  I  wound 

Where  I  would  cheer.     Let  not  thy  sin  do  wrong 

Beyond  itself,  but  seek  for  comforting 

In  higher  thoughts.     Decide  thyself  to  do 

Some  good  on  earth,  however  sad  the  heart. 

Till  grow  in  courage  when  the  good  done  man 

In  daily  rounds  of  ordered  tasks  revert 

At  last  to  cheer  thy  own  poor  stricken  life." 

With  spring-time  Edalaine  had  turned  toward  home, 

And  that  with  eagerness.     Not  all  the  praise 

She  took  with  her  could  stifle  in  her  heart 

A  longing  for  her  sister's  loving  words 

And  quiet  ways.     Some  chord  within  her  breast 

Was  out  of  tune.     "  Tis  spring,"  she  said,    "  at 

home 
I'll  find  with  rest  a  lighter  heart,"  and  she 


Edalaine.  1 75 

V/ho'd  now  become  indeed  a  sister's  care 

Sobbed  out  her  grief  at  being  left  alone. 

She  dared  not  say,  "  Return  with  me  ;"  she  felt  • 

'Twas  better  not,  and  so  without  a  word 

Of  hope,  though  such  she  felt  within  herself, 

She  said  good-by.     She  had  not  even  heard 

Her  story,  for,  when  once  she  strove  to  speak, 

But  stopped  to  struggle  with  her  rising  sobs, 

Then  Edalaine  said,  "  Nay,  I  can  but  love 

And  cherish  you  for  what  you  are.     I  know 

Whate'er  the  past,  the  wrong  was  not  your  own 

Alone  ;   and  suffering  that  purifies 

Has  magnified  the  best  that  nature  gave. 

Be  hopeful,  true  unto  yourself  until 

In  t»me  you  reap  both  peace  and  happiness." 

And  gratefully  the  little  woman  twined 

Her  arms  about  har  generous  friend,  whose  depth 

Of  generosity  she  did  not  dream 

(How  could  she  know  whom  Edalaine  had  loved  ?) 


1 76  Edalaine. 

She  kissed  the  lips  that  spoke  such  confidence, 
And  watched  the  steamer  westward  bound,  with 

eyes 
That  looked  through  blinding  tears. 

And  Edalaine 

At  home  once  more,  for  Paris  still  she  claimed 
As  home,  had  found  so  much  of  heart-felt  love 
And  peace,  she  scarce  believed  her  heart  e'er  knew 
A  grief.     The  children  that  she  left  were  changed 
In  all  but  love  and  confidence,  and  then 
What  restful  balm  she  felt  her  sister's  love. 

One  day,  while  wandering  slowly  through 

the  Louvre, 

She  met  and  greeted  Arnold  Deith.     Her  words 
Playfully  spoken,  covered  up  her  pain 
With  seeming  raillery  and  mirth  ;  but  how 
Her  gentle  heart  beneath  it  all  was  pierced 
With  sorrow,  thinking  of  her  Geraldine ! 
Their  friendship  was  renewed ;  they  wandered  oft 


Edalaine.  177 

Through  scenes  of  art  and  beauty,  and  she  felt 

In  wonder  at  herself  a  deep  belief 

That  he  was  innocent  of  wrong,  and  then 

By  duty  stifled  in  her  breast,  she  found 

In  undercurrents  of  his  words  a  clew 

To  base  suspicions  which  devoured  her  heart 

Though  sternly  holding  self  responsible 

To  justice. 

Oft,  when  softened  by  the  glimpse 
Of  what  in  truthful  souls  would  bear  the  name 
Of  sentiment,  that  can  be  known  alone 
In  souls  accord  with  thoughts  sublime,  she  forced 
Herself  to  find  them  false  as  he  was  base, 
Until  his  very  attributes  and  grace 
Of  mind  appeared  arraigned  by  justice  stern, — 
The  very  essence  of  a  villainy 
Refined.     At  other  times  she  shrank  with  fear 
And  horror  at  her  own  black  doubts.     "  How  vile 
My  mind  must  be  to  turn  to  baser  ends 


1 78  Edalaine. 

What  seems  so  fair!"  and  then  some  whisper  soft 
Of  breezes,  bearing  on  their  breath  the  name 
Of  Geraldine,  gave  strength  to  doubts. 

One  eve 

Tney  sat  beneath  the  vines  till  stars  came  out 
Through    twilight    tremblingly,    and     night    had 

touched, 

With  soft  and  solemn  melancholy,  earth. 
The  planets  whirled  above  their  heads  so  swift 
Their  evolutions  were  not  marked,  but  seemed 
To  stand  in  motionless  array. 

Of  this 

They  talked  when  silence  fell  upon  them  both. 
At  last  he  spoke,  as  if  he  gave  to  thought 
Unconscious  utterance. 

"  What  subtle,  rare 

Delight  to  sound  the  soul  of  one  we  meet 
Unmindful,  then,  awaking  to  know  our  thoughts 
Enthralled  by  mystery  that  we  find  in  life 


Edalaine.  1 79 

Of  one  but  late  unknown.     You'll  ne'er  believe 
What  mystery  you  are  to  me,  my  friend, 
I've  noted  you  when  least  you  thought,  and  much 
Have  wondered  o'er  the  oneness  of  your  life. 
Though   gay,   you're   often    sad ;    though    young 

seem  old ; 

Esprit  and  beauty  that  would  lead  not  few 
To  give  their  lives  to  pleasure  and  delight, — 
These  have  no  power  to  lure  you  from  the  path 
Of  meditation,  study,  and  of  art. 
How  few  among  the  narrow  world  that  scorns 
The  stage  could  understand  all  this,  when  I, 
A  man  that's  seen  the  whole  of  life,  its  good 
And  ill,  can  scarcely  comprehend." 

And  she, 

"  Why  not  ?     Is  good  so  rare,  unknown  a  thing? 
The  doubting  ones  find  life  upon  the  stage 
Impossible  with  purity;  but  why? 
Tis  true,  that  'stead  of  stern  control  o'er  all 


1 80  Edalaine. 

Emotions  of  the  heart,  their  gifts  to  bring 
Before  the  world  the  best  and  worst  of  life. 
But  learn  the  teachers  not  themselves  as  well 
The  lesson  taught?" 

"  Alas,  such  reasoning 

Sounds  well,  dear  Edalaine,  but  see  we  not 
Examples  all  around  of  women  lost, 
Who  flaunt  their  sins  upon  the  stage  ?    And  you 
Must  bear  contempt  because  of  them," 

She  flushed 
A  little,  then  turned  pale. 

"  That  phrase  sounds  hard  ; 
But  some  compassion  fills  my  heart  for  those 
Who  do  not  know  that  while  they  may  contemn 
The  stage,  and  find  in  other  fields  their  means 
Of  teaching,  'twould  be  ill  of  you,  who  might 
Administer  some  good,  where  want  is  known 
To  say,  "Who  needs  this  help  must  come  to  me 


Edalaine.  1 8 1 

In  place  of  seeking  through  the  haunts  where  most 
Such  needs  do  congregate.     Upon  the  stage 
We  reach  a  class  that  come  not  there  for  good, 
But  only  seek  in  life  to  be  amused  ; 
And  did  we  publish  it,  'twould  likely  fright 
Them  from  the  door,  but  all  the  more  must  we 
Sincerer  ones,  amidst  their  pleasure  drop 
Some  seed  of  good,  that  all  unconsciously 
Will  spring  within  their  hearts,  and  then  at  last 
Bear  fruit." 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  what  can  one  pure  girl 
Amidst  such  reckless  company  e'er  hope 
To  do  ?     What  good  from  lessons  taught  by  those 
The  world  thinks  guilty  of  immoral  deeds?" 
A  flash  of  anger  sprang  into  her  face, 
To  his  a  glimmering  smile  she  did  not  see. 
"You  go  too  far,"  she  said,  "  for  such  low  minds 
Though   our  contempt  out-weight  their  own,  we 
hold 


f 

182  Edalaine. 

Ourselves  above  of  giving  them  a  thought. 

Although  'tis  fashion  of  all  ages  known 

To  heap  examples  of  the  evils  there, 

None  ever  took  an  equal  pains  to  show 

The  like  in  circle  of  their  quiet  homes, 

Or  more  (and  God  forbid  they  should)  within 

Their    church."     And    now    aroused    to   keenest 

sense 

Of  grief  and  anger  both,  the  tears  rolled  down 
Her  cheeks.     "  And  counted  I  the  wrongs  of  those 
I  knew  as  child  and  woman,  people  screened 
By  influence  of  home,  and  those  I've  known 
Since  then  upon  the  stage,  I'd  say  at  once 
Its  highway  safer  far  than  subtleties 
That  came  to  ruin  those  I  left  behind. 
Oh,  could  I  tell  the  world  what  sacrifice 
Is  hidden  'neath  the  trappings  of  the  stage ! 
How  nobly  struggle  timid  girls  to  drive 


Edalaine.  1 83 

From   door  of  home  its  want.     I've  known  poor 

girls 

Whose  sense  of  neatness  shrank  to  meet  my  glance 
That  boots  gave  silent  witness  of  their  needs, 
Or  shabby  dress  was  sad  and  queer  exchange 
For  sheeny  costume  they  had  worn  but  now 
Upon  the  stage.     Oh,  how  my  heart  has  warmed 
Toward  them,  scarce  comprehending  such  a  weight 
Of  life,  to  know,  that,  with  a  sigh  that  spoke 
Content,  and  yet  the  piteous  thought  the  sum 
Was  far  too  small,  the  envelope  which  held 
Their  pay,  unopened,  found  its  way  to  hand 
Of  mother,  so  to  pay  the  needs  of  home 
Which  ever  seemed  to  be  ahead  of  toil !" 
"  But  then,"  he  interrupts,  "  think  of  yourself ; 
The  most  of  those  you  meet  have  not  so  fine 
A  sense  of  feeling.     Think  you  not  that  one 
Must  feel  an  influence — " 

"  I  comprehend. 


1 84  Edalaine. 

But  let  us  turn  to  life  at  home,"  her  tears 

Had  dried  themselves  upon  the  heavy  lids 

That  shrouded  eyes  whose  tenderness  seemed  half 

Appeal  through  speaking  words  decisively. 

"  The  man  that  tends  your  petted  steed,  that  hands 

You  forth  your  whip,  the  boy  who  blacks  your 

boots, 

The  one  who  trims  your  hair,  or  gives  by  chance 
A  light  for  your  cigar,  who  brings  the  news, — 
Are  they  not  of  your  life  essential  part  ? 
And  yet  the  abstract  portion  born  to  serve. 
Their  phrases  set,  you  hear  each  day,  your  word 
Of  kindliness,  unconsciously  bestowed. 
They  treasure  fast  within  their  hearts  ;  but  they 
Of  influence  upon  your  life  have  none, 
And  of  your  day  each  plays  his  part,  then  goes 
Forgot  till  habit  calls  his  services." 
"  Tis  not  the  same,"  and  he,  the  speaker,  shook 


\Edalaine.  185 

His  head  in  doubt,    "  these  people   think  them 
selves 

Your  equal,  or  your  peer,  do  criticise 
Or  more,  become  familiar — that  degrades 
The  most,  it  does  not  seem  to  make  you  fear." 
"  Nay,  pause,"  she  said,  and  this  time  spoke  with 

more 

Of  sternness,  which  he  coulu  not  comprehend. 
"  'Tis  said  familiar  ways  breed  that  contempt 
We  may  full  soon  resent — ours  then  the  blame. 
I  understand  the  scope,  you'd  say  when  we 
Take  in  our  hands  a  coal,  it  leaves  upon  us  there 
The  token  of  its  black'ning,  grimy  touch. 
Where  do  we  find  escape  from  those  whose  touch 
May  bring  pollution  ?     In  the  hearts  of  men 
We  own  as  equals  hides  there  not  deceit, 
Base  treachery,  and  worse,  foul  acts  against 
All  justice,  mercy,  truth,  humanity, 
Or  love?" 


1 86  Edalaine. 

"  Too  true,  too  true,  your  words  awake 
The  shadows  of  a  past  I  dare  not  now 
Disclose,"  and  agitation  swept  his  face 
That  plainly  proved  to  her  his  guilt. 

"  But  how 

Our  words  have  led  us  from  my  first  intent," 
He  said,  when  thrice  he'd  paced  the  length  that  lay 
Between  the  garden  walls,  "  for,  Edalaine, 
My  bitter  arguments  against  the  stage 
Are  selfish  ones,  I  love  you  as  my  life  ! 
And  though  I've  tried  full  long  to  stifle  love, 
Have  tried  to  teach  my  heart  a  disbelief 
In  you,  with  all  the  world  of  womankind, 
Your  life  has  cast  its  radiance  round  my  own, 
Has  chased  away  its  shadows  one  by  one, 
Till  once  again  I  look  upon  the  world 
To  say,  '  Some  good  there   yet  remains  while  lives 
My  Edalaine.'     'Tis  strange,  you  think,  to  woo 
With  doubting  words,  alas,  the  curse  has  been 


Edalaine.  187 

My  own.     Bring  hope,  nay  heav'n  itself  renewed 
By  blessed  sounding  words  that  shall  bring  faith 
And  drop  upon  my  soul  with  tender  touch 
The  balm  forgetfulness  of  all  that's  vile. 
For  so  I  think  all  bitter  pain  that's  dulled 
My  past  would  vanish,  could  I  hear  thee  say 
'  I  love  thee,  Arnold,  and  will  be  thy  wife.'  " 
An  icy  chill  had  fallen  on  the  heart 
Of  Edalaine ;  she  heard  the  words  as  if 
They  were  pronounced  afar,  nor  could  she  think 
Or  fashion  her  reply,  until  he  came 
And,  ere  she  knew,  had  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 
A  viper's  cold  and  clammy  touch  had  not 
More  startled  her,  she  shrank. 

"Nay,  Arnold  Deith, 

Could  I  but  love  you,  'twere  my  least  of  griefs ; 
I  ne'er  should  wed,  but  yet  'twere  better  live 
In  loving  from  afar,  than  know  the  God 
We  worshiped  was  but  clay  !" 


1 88  Edalaine. 

"  What  problem  this  ?" 
He  said,  "  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Thy  heart 

Its  guilt  doth  better  comprehend  than  words 
Of  mine.     I  know  not  if  with  phrase  of  love, 
If  promises  of  future  blissfulness 
And  honor  moved  the  confidence  of  one 
Who,  dragged  to  precipice  of  wrong,  you  left, 
Without  a  hope  in  life.     Abhorred  of  self, 
Betrayed  by  you,  she  wandered. 

Well  for  me 

Who  shrined  an  idol  all  unconsciously 
Within  my  heart,  I  found  her  ere  too  late, 
But  not  too  late  for  her  despair,  nor  my 
Poor  peace  of  mind,  for  ill  the  heart  that  aye 
Must  gaze  upon  a  shattered  heap  of  clay. 
Poor  Geraldine !" 

He  paled.     "  Poor  Geraldine  !  you  met 
My  wife  !"   and  beads  of  agony  diffused 


Edalaine.  1 89 

His  brow,  and  she  with  wonder-stricken  face 
Had  echoed  too,  his  words  of  inquiry. 
"Your  wife?  she,  Geraldine,  is  then  your  wife?'' 
"  She  is  my  wife.     She  ivas  my  wife,"  and  when 
She  would  have  silenced  him,  he  sternly  bade 
Her  listen.     "  Stay,  for  Edalaine,  whate'er 
Your  mandate,  I  have  right  to  claim  respect, 
And  dare  not  for  my  future  good  leave  doubt 
In  mind  of  her  I  love  as  hope  of  heaven. 
For  it  is  my  hope  of  future  peace,"  and  pale 
As  death  he  faced  her  whom  he  dared  not  touch. 
"  You  think  me  traitor,  doubly  so,  since  I 
Have  offered  love  to  you.     I  never  thought 
My  lips  could  name  the  past.     Indeed,  it  seemed 
To  me  that  if  one  named  its  shameful  page 
Scarce  would  I  hold  myself  from  dealing  death 
To  him  who  dared  to  word  my  deep  disgrace." 
"  Nay,  do  not  tell  me,"  Edalaine  had  said, 
Her  only  wish  the  reparation  just. 


1 90  Edalaine. 

"  It  must  be  told,  else  peace  there  s  none  on  earth 

When  you  are  thinking  ill  of  me.     You  know 

Somewhat  my  life,  that  duties  in  the  past 

Have  often  called  me  from  my  home, — enough. 

My  brother  is  a  priest,  and  when  away, 

He  served  as  guardian  in  the  home  I  left. 

On  one  return  of  absence  long,  I  marked 

In  person  of  my  wife  the  signs  of  guilt — " 

And  here  he  faltered,  then  a  moment  paused 

To  gain  his  strength,  and  spoke  again.      "  'Twas 

full 

Two  years  before  I  saw  your  face.     I  made 
No  sign  ;   hence  fear  was  banished,  for  they  knew 
I  must  depart,  and  so  could  be  deceived. 
I  watched  for  guilty  paramour  of  her 
Who  bore,  to  thus  degrade  my  honored  name. 
Oh,  shame,  oh  agony !  dissembling  thus  ! 
What  rage  and  horror  of  dishonor  felt. 
At  times  I  rushed  from  out  the  house  in  fear 


Edalaine.  191 

Lest  passion  overcame  desire  for  just 

Revenge  to  strike  to  earth  this  woman,  who 

Had  held  my  name  so  light.     I  waited  not 

In  vain,  for  soon  I  tracked  the  pair  to  this 

Same  street,  and  shame,  a  million  times  more  great 

I  felt,  dishonor,  grief,  ingratitude 

Forced  on  my  soul  at  once  ;  for  he  who  dealt 

The  mortal  blow  was  one  I'd  cherished  long. 

He  was  the  only  one  I  ever  loved 

Beyond  the  parents  who  had  blessed  my  youth. 

But  more  than  that  and  worse,  O  Edalaine, 

That  I  must  be  so  cruelly  debased, 

One  mother  bore  us  both !"  and  here  his  voice 

To  whispers  that  its  horror  full  betrayed 

Had  sunk. 

"  You  wonder  that  I  let  them  pass 
With  life?     I  knew  their  sins  would  find  them  out. 
I  made  no  sign,  but  kept  them  both  in  view 
Till  born  her  child.     I  faced  her  with  her  guilt 


1 92  Edalaine. 

And  his;  but  she,  with  obstinacy  strange^ 
Denied  the  charge,  until  I  thought  her  crazed. 
I  gave  her  means,  and  sent  her  far  from  home 
On  pain  of  utter  ruin  and  disgrace 
Before  the  world.     I  made  him  disappear 
Unknown  to  her.     The  child  had  reached  three 

years 

When  some  one  where  she  dwelt  had  found  a  clue 
To  her  identity.     Again  I  sent 
Her  forth.     The  child  first  died,  and  she  in  grief 
Took  ill,  was  carried  from  the  ship,  and  then 
Came  word  that,  fever  setting  in,  she,  too, 
Had  gone  to  answer  for  her  grievous  sin. 
Then  came  a  letter,  never  read,  for  why 
Take  notice  of  such  glaring  subterfuge  ?" 
He  paused,  and  Edalaine — 

"  Your  reason  is 

At  fault,  you  quite  forget  that  even  sin 
Hath  right  to  plead  its  cause,  as  you  have  plead 


Edalaine.  193 

Unconsciously  within  my  heart  by  this 
Sad  tale." 

"  O  Edalaine,  'tis  not  the  worst ! 
For  five  long  years,  without  belief  in  God 
Or  man,  I've  lived  to  prove  that  naught  remains 
But  ill ;  have  sought  to  bring  the  ruin  which 
When  wrought  I  spurned  with  contumely  and  jest; 
Have  given  curses,  and  had  curses  rained 
On  me." 

His  hearer  shuddered.     "  Oh,  my  friend, 
How  aches  my  heart  to  know  that,  wronged,  you 

know 

Not  grace  of  soul  to  cast  its  poison  forth, 
Hast  tnou  ne'er  seen  the  ruddy  apples  heaped 
Upon  the  ground  of  some  New  England  field  ? 
Nor  marked  that  when  a  rotten  apple  crushed 
'Gainst  cheek  of  ruddiest,  firmest  apple,  there 
It  soon  decayed,  till,  truthfully  with  you, 
One  might  exclaim,  'They  all  are  rotten-cored, 


1 94  Edalaine. 

This  apple  had  a  rosy  cheek,  but  see, — 
Tis  like  the  rest !'    forgetful  that  its  own 
Impurity  hath  brought  decay.    Good  friend, 
We  make  the  world,  and  for  our  peace  of  mind 
Must  shield  us  from  the  sin  by  calling  forth 
The  good.     Some  gross  mistake  exists.     That  you 
Were  wronged  I  do  not  doubt,  yet  not  all  wrong. 
Your  wife  who  expiates  her  sin — yes,  still 
She  expiates  her  sin — start  not,  your  wife 
Still  lives  to  suffer ;  and  though  woman-born 
Myself,  and  therefore  stern  disposed,  perhaps, 
Tow'rd  sin  that  blots  th'  escutcheon  of  my  sex, 
Her  grief,  her  patience,  her  fortitude,  and  more, — 
Her  innocence, — leave  me  to  doubt  but  that 
Her  punishment  was  greater  than  her  sin. 
And  she  more  wronged  than  sinning.'' 

Arnold  Deith 

Had  buried  now  his  face,  his  attitude 
Was  hopelessness  itself. 


Edalaine.  195 

"  Oh,  Arnold  Deith, 

Be  just,  if  not  for  them,  your  soul's  best  good 
Demands  that  you  should  know  the  very  truth." 
He  started  as  with  anger.     "  What,  debase 
Myself  by  inquiry?     What  matters  it? 
The  sin  was  palpable  enough.     I  ask 
What  palliation  of  the  wrong  could  there 
Exist?" 

And  Edalaine — "  Would  not  there  be 
Some  comfort,  could  you  know  at  least  the  man 
You  loved  had  never  wronged  you ;  that  instead 
He  sought  to  guard  the  honor  of  your  wife, 
And  you   by  shielding  her?      Such  things  have 
been, 

And  she" 

"  But,"  angrily  he  silenced  her, — 
"  Imagination  may  do  much  for  minds 
More  weak,  but  I  am  right,  and  that  you  shield 


196  Edalaine. 

The  acts  of  those  who've  wronged  me  seems  most 

strange." 

"  Nay,  Arnold,  you  do  wrong,  believe,  to  my 
Best  motives ;  you  are  hurt  and  angered,  so 
At  present,  cannot  understand  that  souls 
Are  only  ministered  by  good  when  free 
From  that  foul  taint  of  sin  by  others  done. 
Oh,  lay  some  balm  upon  thy  suffering  heart 
In  thinking  though  I  have  been  wronged,  let  me 
Be  merciful,  that  mercy  may  bedew 
My  life." 

"  Ah,  Edalaine,  'tis  easy  said, 
But  when  the  iron  hath  pierced  a  pride  like  mine 
And  at  the  very  moment  when  I  thought 
I  clutched  a  saving  hand,  as  once  I  dreamed 
To  find  in  thee,  again  the  ghosts  arise 
From  out  the  past,  to  snatch  it  from  my  grasp. 
Why  talk  of  hope  in  anything  ?" 

"  And  am 


Edalaine.  197 

I  less  your  friend  than  half  an  hour  aback? 
Nay,  now  I  feel  I  can  be  friend,  and  aid." 
"  Be  friend !     I  love  you,  Edalaine,  and  till 
I  thought  myself  quite  free  to  ask  your  love, 
Say,  did  I  not  avoid  your  presence  when 
It  seemed  most  strange  ?     You  never  noted  it, 
But  oft  I've  fled  your  presence,  did  not  dare 
Meet  eyes  that  looked  in  mine  so  fearlessly, 
Lest  they  should  read  the  passion  of  my  soul 
Awakened  by  their  purity." 

"  I  knew 

I  wronged  you  by  my  ling'ring  doubts.     Say  more 
Than  that  I  cannot,  for  it  is  not  meet 
To  broach  myself.     Recall  the  words  I  said 
So  long  ago,  '  I  ne'er  shall  wed,'  alas, 
The  sentence  hides  a  life-long  woe,  which,  told, 
Might  aid  your  spirit  to  a  nobler  trust 
In  duties  of  this  life  above  desires. 
But  that  must  be  when  you  have  proved  by  acts 


1 98  Edalaine. 

The  bitterness  within  your  heart  has  been 
O'ercome  ;  and  first  of  all  I'd  lend  in  part 
Your  heart  somewhat  the  pity  that  I  feel 
For  Geraldine." 

"And  would  you  have  me  take 
Her  back  again  ?"  his  eyes  held  dangerous  light. 
"  She  would  not  choose  to  daily  read  within 
Your  eyes  the  guilt  upon  her  soul,  if  guilt — 
A  voluntary  guilt — there  be.     But  think 
You  not,  in  useful  life  some  place  would  come 
If  you  could  meet  her  once  and  hear  her  wrongs? 
For  such  I  feel  they  were." 

"If  they  were  wrongs 

Why  came  she  not  at  once  to  me  ?"  he  said, 
Impatient  yet  at  her  discourse. 

"  Are  you 

So  gentle  in  your  charities  that  one 
So  timid  did  not  fear  some  wrongful  act  ? 
And  if,  I  say,  once  met,  you  could  but  say, 


Edalaine.  199 

'  Poor  Geraldine,  go  thou  thy  way,  I'm  not 

Thy    judge,  and    can    forgive    what    more    hath 

wronged 

Thyself,'  think  you  it  would  not  bring  some  peace 
Into  the  desolation  of  that  life?" 
"  'Tis  very  fine,  dear  Edalaine,  but  not 
The  creed  that's  lettered  in  my  heart,  and  you 
Can  scarcely  understand  (since  that  you  know 
Not  love)  the  double  bitterness  to-day. 
Deceived  by  one,  unloved  by  other,  yet 
A  slave  to  both.     A  weaker  man  would  say, 
With  heartfelt  bitterness,  '  O  Death,  where  is 
Thy  sting?' " 

"Ah,  that  to  live  needs  greater  strength 
At  times  than  choosing  death,  all  living  know. 
Nor  would  we  yield  with  Hamlet  that  the  grave 
Hath  ills  unknown  the  more  than  life,  for  who 
Can  truthfully  foretell  the  griefs  to  come  ?" 
And  then  her  own  strength  feeling  much  the  strain 


2OO  Edalaine. 

Of  such  discourse,  she  stretched  her  hand  to  him. 

"  Think  not,  good  friend,  my  life  hath  not  its  ills, 

Perhaps  more  hard  to  bear  for  being  hidden. 

Refuse  my  friendship,  mine  the  loss,  nor  can 

I  change  the  impulse  of  my  heart  to  hate." 

"  A  woman  may,  perhaps,"  he  said,  "  find  means 

To  modify  a  love  to  friendship's  code. 

Not  so  a  man,  and  I  belie  my  strength 

To  promise  it,  at  least  until  I've  learned 

The  magic  alchemy  you  fain  would  teach, 

To  touch  to  sweet  the  bitterness  my  life 

Hath  known.     'Tis  pity  that  the  art's  not  known 

More  widely."     Then  with  smile  of  bitterness 

Had  touched  her  hand  with  burning  lips,  and  went 

Ere  she  could  frame  a  last  farewell. 

Oh,  weight 

Of  woe !     It  seemed  some  dream,  and  yet  her  grief 
Has  mingled  with  so  much  of  his  and  that 


Edalaiue.  201 

Of  Geraldine,  so  much  of  query,  hope, 

And,  too,  despair  she  scarce  could  tell,  if  hers 

Or  theirs,  touched  most  her  heart. 


BOOK   V, 

And  now  a  cloud  had  settled  over  France 
Had  crept  above  the  brilliant  capitol, 
Until  its  slowly  gathering  folds  had  wrapped 
Themselves    about   its   spires,  crept   through   its 

streets, 

Enveloping  and  clouding  all  its  cheer, 
And  ominous,  was  heard  at  intervals 
The  sound  of  musketry.     "  Our  youth  do  fear 
To  lose  their  skill,"  some  said,  but  wiser  ones 
Then  shook  the  head  and  murmured,  "  Nay,  not  so, 
Such  sounds  portend  much  graver  mark;  and  balls, 
Not  shot  alone  do  there  resound,  and  spurt 
Of  blood  responds  to  well  timed  aim.     The  air 


204  Edalaine. 

Is  foul  with  presence  of  an  enemy." 

And  then  again  the  sounds  had  ceased,  to  be 

Forgotten,  timid  ones  took  heart,  these  last, 

The  maid  that  waited  for  her  bridal  morn, 

Or  mother  of  some  noble  son  who  burned 

To  walk  in  footsteps  of  his  fallen  sire. 

And  oft  this  last,  from  out  some  sacred  nook, 

Or  recess  of  their  humble  homes,  took  down 

The  gun  tow'rd  which   from  earliest  youth  he'd 

looked 

With  vague  alarm,  and  then,  when  older  grown, 
Had  listened  to  its  history  with  cheeks 
Aflame,  resolved  if  ever  war  broke  forth, 
That  gun  should  bring  him  victory,  or  death. 
And  now,  in  secret,  lest  the  wish  out-sped 
The  coming  of  the  storm,  with  loving  hand, 
The  youth,  while  fancy  painted  pageantry 
Of  war  where  prancing  steeds  and  cries,  "  La  France 
Et  Libertd  aussi^  brought  victory, 


Edalaine.  205 

He  polishes  the  sturdy  steel,  half  awed 

To  think  his  sire  one  time  had  done  the  same. 

"  But  now  we  meet  another  foe,  ma  foil' 

He  mused,  "  les  gens  Id  !  to  think  to  conquer  u^  !" 

And  not  too  soon,  each  peasant  grasped  his  gun. 

The  cloud  descended  till  it  wrapped  their  loved, 

And  beauteous  city  in  its  treach'rous  folds, 

And  strangers,  whether  pleased  or  not,  could  find 

No  means  to  make  escape.     Some  felt  to  flee 

Was  sheer  ingratitude  tow'rd  nation  that 

Had  sheltered  them  in  prosperous  days,  and  made 

The  cause   their   own.     Dean  Brent   was  one   of 

these, 

And  Edalaine  had  said,  "  I  too  can  aid." 
Her  sister  feared  for  her.     "  Is't  not  enough 
My  husband  gives  his  skill  and  we  our  work 
At  home?"     But  Edalaine  saw  greater  need 
Within  the  teeming  hospitals.     "  Not  all," 
She  said,  "  had  teaching  such  as  we  at  home, 


206  Edalaine. 

Nor  know  the  skillful  touch  these  sufferers 

Do  need."     And  so  there  burned  upon  her  breast 

The  Scarlet  Cross ;  that  sacred  sign  that  made 

Of  foes  a  brotherhood.     Where'er  she  walked 

Its  gleam  oped  wide  the  ranks  to  let  her  pass. 

Confusion's  self,  would  oft  give  way  at  sign 

Or  word,  "  I  am  a  servant  of  the  cross." 

One  day  they  came  to  say  a  lady  ask'd 

For    her,  and    through   the   crowded   wards   she 

walked, 

Too  full  of  homely  cares  to  wonder  or 
To  ask  "  What  name  ?"     At  cry  half  plaintive,  half 
Afraid,  of  "  Edalaine  !"  she  clasped  with  joy 
The  trembling  form  of  Arnold's  wife.     "You  are 
Not  angry  that  I  came,  'twas  you  advised 
To  choose  some  useful  work,  and  I  am  come 
To  do  somewhat  my  share." 

"  But  you,  so  frail, — " 
Cried  Edalaine,  then  seeing  tears  begin 


Edalaine.  207 

To  rise  within  the  limpid  eyes,  lest  come 
She  prove  unwelcome,  "  here  in  truth  you'll  find 
The  need  of  gentle  hand  and  tender  look, 
They  often  soothe  severest  wound  beyond 
The  doctor's  skill." 

And  Geraldine  soon  felt 
Her  usefulness,  forgot  herself  amidst 
The  suffering,  until  a  dainty  pink 
Shone  through  the  lilies  of  her  face,  and  light 
Of  happiness  had  brighten'd  sombre  eyes. 
A  faithful  bearer  of  the  cross,  content 
She  ne'er  had  known  now  dwelt  within  her  heart. 
The  name  of  Arnold  Deith  ne'er  passed  the  lips 
Of  Edalaine,  who  mused,  "  Why  probe  a  wound 
Till  healing  can  be  brought,  and  now  sometimes 
She  feared  it  never  could  be  done,  she  saw 
As  yet  no  clear  solution  of  the  way 
To  straighten,  in  the  embittered  lives  of  those 
She  fondly  loved,  such  strangely  tangled  threads. 


208  Edalaine. 

At  times  she  tried  to  doubt  of  Geraldine. 

Impossible  !     And  once  she  questioned  her. 

"  Dear  Edalaine,  my  brain  has  near  gone  mad 

In  efforts  vain  to  solve  the  mystery 

That  shrouds  the  sin  that  blots  my  life.     The  sin 

'Tis  like  you  have  divined,  but  more  than  that, 

I  would  I  might  relate,  an  endless  round 

Of  queries  in  my  mind  o'er  problem  that 

Is  never  near  solution,  frights  a  mind 

More  strong  than  mine,  and  Oh,  dear  Edalaine, 

Your  confidence  and  love  have  brought  me  hope 

That  gives  me  strength  to  live !" 

'Midst  roll  of  drum, 

The  call  of  troops,  excitements,  fears  and  ills 
Of  the  besieged  and  anxious  city,  thoughts 
Found  daily  cares  that  crowded  from  the  mind 
One's  individual  woes.     Sometimes  a  word 
From  Arnold  Deith  reached  Edalaine.     He  too 
Had  found  much  need  of  work.    To  Edalaine 


Edalaine.  209 

He  wrote  to  flee  the  dangers  yet  unknown  ; 

Still  found  it  in  his  power  to  aid  her  leave 

The  now  beleaguered  city,  would  she  go? 

"You  are  unkind,"  she  answered  him,  "to  wish 

Me  comprehend  that  only  helplessness 

Can  be  the  lot  of  womankind.     Men  stay, 

And  why  not  I,  since  envious  the  work 

They  do,  urged  on  by  roll  of  drum,  the  sound 

Of  thrilling  strains,  till  these  are  merged  to  din 

And  roar  of  battle,  clash  of  steel,  and  cries 

That  fire  ambitious  souls  to  something  outside 

The  consciousness  of  personal  alarms. 

Our  countrymen  would  say :  how  strange  that  you 

And  I,  nay,  all  Americans  that  fired 

To  deep  enthusiasm,  do  their  part. 

'Tis  not  their  land,  it's  hardly  natural ! 

Has  then  humanity  a  native  land  ? 

And  too,  what  happiness  the  thought,  whoe'er 

The  exile,  quick  to  sympathize  and  do, 


2io  Edalaine. 

But  may  not  find  a  welcome  in  the  hearts 

Of  suffering  humanity.     To-day 

A  soldier  died  upon  my  arm.     His  one 

Faint  smile,  the  last,  would  aid  me  toil  for  those 

Who  are  not  learned  in  gentle  gratitude. 

Our  best  in  this  strange  labyrinth, — the  right 

And  wrong  of  life,  is  done  because  we  say 

We  knew  not  how  to  help  ourselves.     And  then 

Some  kindly  soul   would  flatter  us.     We  are 

Inspired  now  the  word  recalls  the  fact 

You  told  me  once  I  was  inspired  and  must 

Succeed.     May  not  one  be  a  second  time 

Inspired,  this  time  to  drop  awhile  the  thought 

Of  selfish  aims  ?"  And  so  the  letter  closed. 

Yet  Edalaine  had  been  unlike  her  sex 

Had  not  such  thoughtful  care  brought  restfulness,, 

And  with  it  feelings  of  security. 

Steadily  disease  amidst  the  maimed 


Edalaine.  211 

Crept  in,  and  touched  the  brow  of  one,  breathed 

o'er 

The  lips  of  others  till,  unwelcome  guest, 
He  held  the  secrets,  ruled  with  dread  the  house. 
Fearlessly  amidst  contagious  ills 
And  added  cares,  walked  Edalaine,  her  calm 
And  cheerful  spirit  lending  hope  to  those 
Who  would  have  fled  from  out  the  wretched  place. 
Nor  was  the  dread  procession  at  an  end. 
The  weighty  ambulance — forerunner  grim 
Of  blight,  disease,  of  pain  and  death  itself, 
Came  day  or  night  to  leave  its  moaning  charge. 
One  day,  as  Geraldine  had  loosed  the  band 
That  half  concealed  the  face  of  one  poor  man, 
Who,  conscious,  suffered  agonies  of  death, 
She  gave  a  cry,  and,  ere  they  reached  her  side, 
Fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 

"  Poor  child,"  they  said, 
"The    sight    was    more    than    she    couid   bear.'' 


2 1 2  Edalaine. 

"  Alas !" 

The  doctor  sighed,  "  I  fear  'tis  more  than  fright. 
She  has  been  brave  enough  ere  now,  at  sight 
Of  cruel  marks  of  hatred  and  of  strife, 
May  God  forbid  it  being  fell  disease." 
When  Edalaine  had  seen  her  friend  restored 
To  speech,  she  said  : 

"  No  more  to-day,  my  friend 
You  must  have  rest." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  was  not  that — 
I  thought,  O  grief !" — and   then  her  lips    turned 

pale, 

And  once  again  she  slipped  from  consciousness. 
'  fwas  long  before  her  eyelids  oped  themselves, 
And  then  the  doctor  would  not  let  her  speak. 
"  Be  quiet,  dear."  entreated  Edalaine, 
"  Myself  will  take  the  cares  that  fall  to  you." 
A  grateful  glance  scarce  answered  her,  ere  gone. 
She  understood,  when  bending  o'er  the  cot 


Edalaine.  2 1 3 

Of  him  the  surgeons  sought  to  ease,  and  felt 
Her  own  heart  give  a  sudden  bound  of  fright. 
"  How  foolish,  yet  there  is  a  likeness  found. 
Poor  child,  I  understand  !     How  well  she  hides 
The  grief  that's  ever  present  to  her  heart !' 
'Twas  midnight.     Long  the  patient  slept  through 

aid 

Of  drugs  the  doctors  left,  when  suddenly 
He  spoke  :     "  Ah,  look,  'tis  he  !     My  brother  leads 
The  column  on  the  right,  I'll  reach  his  side 
Or  meet  my  death  !     Say,  friend,  remember  this, 
If  fate  decrees  that  I  must  fail,  you'll  find 
The  papers  here,  which  give  into  his  hand, — 
Oh,  God  !     I'm  lost — they're  ordered  to  the  rear! 
The  foe  now  moves  between  my  friends  and  me  \ 
I  see  him  now, — alas  !  he  falls, — if  death, 
I'd  scarcely  yield  a  sigh,  so  welcome  like 
Would  be  to  me !     Thank  God,  'tis  come,  I  die  !" 
At  this  he  sprang  upright,  when  Edalaine 


214  Edalaine. 

Till  now  a  startled  listener,  had  touched 
His  arm. 

"  Be  quiet,  sir,  you're  safe  with  friends, 
Your  papers  lie  beside  your  hand.     All's  done 
That  can  be  done  till  health  returns  to  you." 
Amazed,  he  gazed  upon  her  face. 

"  Till  health— 

I  thought  the  end  had  come,  and  must  I  die  again  ? 
Who  knows  ?     I  may  be  doomed,  alas, 
To  hundred  deaths?" 

"  Not  so,  good  friend,  the  death 
We  most  do  fear  more  lenient  is,  perhaps, 
Than  Pain,  who  sometimes  takes  upon  himself 
His  semblance  pale." 

Soothed  once  again  by  words 
Of  hopefulness,  the  patient  slept  for  hours. 
When  next  he  woke,  long  time  he  lay  in  thought, 
Or  watched  the  face  of  Edalaine  that  now, 
Deep  lost  in  meditation,  witness  bore 


Edalaine.  215 

Of  ever  present  grief.     At  last  aware 

He  wakeful  lay,  she  bent  above  the  cot. 

"  You're  better,  sir,  can  aught  be  done  for  you?5' 

"  I'm  better,  yes,  the  calm  preceding  death. 

My  pain  is  gone,  affrighted  by  the  touch 

And   chill   of  death   that's  creeping   through   my 

limbs. 

Nay, — listen,  'tis  but  truth  :  Sometimes  the  vail 
Is  torn  from  off  our  sight,  revealing  sense 
Of  things  unknown  in  health,  so  now  with  me. 
Thine  eyes  beseech  me  live  for  sake  of  friends, 
They  also  tell  me  trust  my  woes  to  thee. 
Then  lend  me  now  thy  listening  ear  to  learn 
A  tale  that  proves  our  very  virtues  are, 
Sometimes,  the  pitfall  of  unwary  feet. 
We  claim  we  have  the  will  to  make  our  world 
When  circumstance  can  weave  intangibly 
A  chain,  to  trip  the  footsteps  of  the  wise, 
That  once  unlinked  would  make  him  seem  a  fool. 


2 1 6  Edalaine. 

In  youth  I  came  to  France.     My  father's  wealth 

Placed  all  advantages  of  knowledge  'neath 

My  very  hand,  and  more  than  that,  I  spent, 

As  boys  will  do,  a  goodly  share  of  time 

In  folly  and  in  search  of  pleasures  vain. 

It  fell  that,  in  a  home  to  which  my  name 

Had  given  free  access,  I  met  a  girl 

Whose  beauty  woke  my  youthful  heart  to  love. 

Both  loved — but  vainly.     All  my  wealth  could  not 

Atone  for  differences  of  birth,  lest  that 

She  followed  me  to  share  my  native  land. 

The  more  they  sought  to  break  the  bond,  the  more 

We  clung  to  love,  until  our  fate  was  sealed. 

We  planned  a  flight,  but  were  betrayed  and  failed, 

And  she  was  sent  from  Paris  to  the  home 

Of  one  who  nursed  her  as  a  child.     But  love 

Finds  means  to  balk  his  enemies,  and  gold 

Unlocks  the  strongest  bars.     I  found  her  nurse. — 

Enough.     At  last  in  secret  we  were  wed. 


Edalaine.  2 1 7 

The  months  rolled  by,  a  child  was  born,  and  still 
Her  parents  thought  her  banishment  but  just, 
And  righteous  chastisement  in  that  she  e'er 
Declared  herself  not  yet  content  to  yield. 
Alas  !  though  safely  passed  a  period 
We  feared  might  bring  discovery,  there  came 
A  sudden  call  for  me  to  turn  tow'rd  home. 
My  father  ill,  I  dared  not  find  excuse, 
And,  torn  between  two  terrible  extremes, 
I  said  farewell ;  but  she,  as  if  her  strength 
Refused  one  grief  the  more,  had  breathed  her  last, 
'Ere  I  had  reached  my  home,  while  till  the  last 
She  prayed   her   parents   ne'er   should   know   the 

truth. 

'Tis  useless  that  I  here  repeat  the  grief, 
Despair  and  hopelessness  my  life  then  knew, 
And  had  our  child  not  lived,  my  strength  to  face 
My  life  had  fled  with  hers. 

At  last  I  hid 


2 1 8  Edalaine. 

My  heavy  grief  beneath  the  garb  of  priest, 

And  so  estranged  my  father's  heart.     One  friend, 

My  brother,  now  remained  to  me,  and  he 

Upheld  my  steps  through  days  of  poverty 

And  grief,  nor  knew  what  drove  me  thus  to  wear 

The  heavy  cross.     At  last  he  too,  was  wed. 

There  is  no  love,'  he  said,  '  on  either  side, 

It  is  my  father's  wish,  through  pride  of  birth. 

She  weds  me  for  my  father's  gold,  I — well. 

I  have  not  loved  and  am  not  like  to  know 

Its  mastery — why  should  I  not  please  him  ? 

His  bitterness  against  one  son  is  quite 

Enough.' 

I  shuddered  at  his  coldness  then, 
For,  many  years  my  junior,  yet  he  seemed 
A  cynic  born. 

His  wife  was  young  and  gay, 
But  pure  and  amiable,  nor  seemed  to  know 
How  serious  'twas  to  wed,  and,  from  the  first; 


Edalaine.  2 1 9 

I  vowed,  scarce  thinking  that    such    oath  could 

mean 

So  much,  to  guard  from  her  all  ills  that  might 
Beset  her  path,  and  wake  to  grief  the  man 
I  loved  above  all  else. 

One  day  she  came 

For  absolution — for  her  faith  was  mine — 
'  O  holy  father,  absolution  make 
For  sins  of  thought;  a  youth  has  come 
Into  my  life,  and  though  we  never  spoke, 
His  ardent  gaze  hath  taught  me  life  hath  much 
I  cannot  understand, — I  scarce  can  breathe 
When  looks  he  so,  and  't  seems  to  me  I  do 
His  will  and  not  mine  own.' 

I  questioned  her, 

I  gave  advice,  and  more,  I  followed  her 
To  see  with  mine  own  eyes  the  youth  who  thus 
Had  waked  a  sleeping  heart.     Alas,  alas  ! 
Oh,  complications  strange  of  daily  life ! 


2  2O  Edalaine. 

It  was  my  son  !  and  yet  not  claimed  as  mine. 

He  knew  me  only  as  his  teacher,  friend, 

And    confidant.       I    turned    tow'rd     home     half 

stunned. 

My  brother  absent  oft  for  months,  knew  not 
The  peril  of  unloved,  unloving  wife. 
And  I  scarce  knew  how  best  to  interfere 
Without  some  serious  harm.     And  day  by  day 
I  waited.     Sad  mistake !     The  torrents  vast 
Of  pent-up  love  are  swifter,  fiercer  far 
Than    else    can    be."      The    speaker    paused   to 

breathe 

And  tried  to  speak  again,  "  And  Geraldine  " — 
But  here  his  voice  had  fluttered  on  his  lips, 
A  purplish,  ghastly  white  shot  o'er  his  face, 
The  light  within  his  sunken  eyes  was  quenched, 
And  Edalaine,  in  sudden  agony, 
Hung  o'er  the  senseless  form  to  know  if  this 
Indeed  were  death.     It  could  not,  must  not  be, 


Edalaine.  221 

That  death  would  place  his  seal  upon  a  truth 
Important  to  her  heart !  the  brother  this, 
And  had  he  not  desired  to  tell  the  tale 
To  clear  himself  ? 

At  last  a  flicker  touched 

His  lips,  'twas  scarce  a  breath,  but  like  a  shade 
That  touches  trees  and  flowers  so  light  we  half 
Believe  it  fancy  of  our  sight,  for  clouds 
Are  absent  from  the  sky,  it  touched  his  cheek, 
Then  moved  across  his  brow  and  o''er  his  lids 
Had  trembled.     Once  again  she  touched  his  lips 
With  cordials,  rubbed  emaciated  hands,  and 
Stroked  the  pallid  brow  until  the  lids 
Had  slowly  lifted,  but  the  poor,  weak  lips 
Could  frame  no  words.     Once  more  she  bathed  the 

lips. 

"  Too  late,  read  this!"  the  lips  then  whispered  her, 
"  I  did  my  best,  my  best,  forgive,  for — !" 
She  closed  the  eyes  and  gently  loosed  the  hands 


222 


Edalaine. 


That  grasped  against  his  breast  the  written  word, 
Laid  straight  the  limbs,  then  closed  the  sightless 

eyes, 

And  all  within  the  room,  scarce  consciously, 
Placed  carefully  to  rights. 

"  Poor  soul !  too  late  to  reach 
The  goal  forgiveness,  yet  I  feel  his  life 
Was  marked  by  some  great  act  of  sacrifice. 
Be  mine  the  happiness,"  she  mused,  "  to  swift 

Completion  crown  the  work  he  left  undone !  " 
*******  * 

As  morning  broke  upon  the  slumbering  world 
In  presence  of  the  dead,  with  reverent  hands 
She  slipped  the  ribbon  from  the  written  sheets 
And  read  : 

"  Oh,  punishment,  more  fleet  thy  course 
To  overtake  unwary,  stumbling  feet ! 
My  cross  was  weighty  ever,  now,  alas, 
I  sink  beneath  its  added  grief  and  care! 


Edalaine.  223 

One  day  while  I  absorbed  in  study  sat 

Alone,  my  son,  for  so  I  dare  to  call 

Him  here,  burst,  unannounced,  upon  the  room. 

His  face  was  pale,  his  manner  wild,  distracted. 

Beholding  me,  he  wrung  his  hands  and  cried  : 

'  Oh,  holy  father,  pity  me  and  take 

My  life  !     I  cannot,  dare  not  live  !     My  look, 

My  touch  pollutes  this  holy  place,  pollutes 

Your  presence  !     Pity  me,  and  take  my  life  !' 

Long  time  it  was,  while  agony  my  heart 

Had  filled  with  dire  imaginings  of  wrong, 

Ere  I  could  learn  from  him  the  crime  he  wept. 

Oh,  shame  !  I  scarce  can  pen  the  wretched  tale  ! 

He  long  had  followed  Geraldine,  and  felt 

Himself  at  first  by  her  beloved,  and  then 

She  would  not  meet  his  pleading  eyes,  or  glanc'd 

But  coldly  at  him  when  he  passed.     He  swore 

Some  enemy  had  poisoned  her  against 

His  love,  as  if  she  knew  his  friends  or  foes! 


224  Edalaine. 

And   then,    Hope    bearing    him   on    wide-spread 

wings, 

He  vowed  such  love  as  his  could  only  live 
As  echo  of  her  purer  heart.     'She  loves, 
As  I  love  her,  could  I  but  reach  her  side !' 
And  more  and  more  his  love  to  madness  burned, 
When,  following  that  day,  he  found 
The  maid  had  left  her  seated  in  the  '  Bois ' 
Alone,  and  watching  there  her  lovely  face, 
He  saw  her  head  droop  'gainst  a  tree  until 
She  slept. 

'  My  love!'  he  whispered  bending  there, 
'  What  chance  but  fate  that  leaves  thee  to  my  care  ?' 
And  as  he  gazed,  temptation  seized  and  ruled 
The  fevered  spirit  of  his  heart.     Within 
His  breast  he  bore  an  Oriental  drug, 
Most  potent  'gainst  all  evils  and  disease  ; 
Or  drawn  into  the  lungs  the  dreamy  soul 


Edalaine.  225 

Could  steep  in  ecstacy,  or  warp  the  will 

To   stronger   minds.      Swift   glancing   round  that 

none 

Observed,  he  placed  upon  her  dainty  lace 
A  crystal  drop  from  which  arose  like  mist 
A  subtle  odor, — first  a  tremor  moved 
Her  blue-veined  lids,  and  then  her  lips  apart 
Like  leaves  of  roses  trembled  to  a  smile. 
An  instant  served  to  bear  her  from  the  spot 
To  hail  a  carriage  and  be  gone.     And  here 
The  youth  with  sobs  was  shook,  then  spake : 

'  Oh,  joy 

Supreme,  to  bear  her  in  my  arms,  my  life, 
My  own  !     And  frenzied  quite  with  joy,  I  reached 
My  street,  dismissed  the  man,  and  hastened  thro' 
The  court,  as  yet  observed  by  none.     I  clasped 
My  treasure  !     How  I  joyed  o'er  her,  and  when 
The  drug  was  nearly  spent,  her  senses  scarce 
Beneath  the  spell,  what  new  delight  to  feel 


226  Edalaine. 

Her  conscious  that  caresses  showered  themselves 
On  her,  until  a  dagger  pierced  my  heart, 
When,  in  her  murmured  words  I  heard  her  name 
Another!     "  Husband,  then  you  love  your  wife  ! 
And  'tis  no  shame  to  feel  my  pulse  beat  high 
With  love  for  thee !"    At  words  like  these  my  heart 
Stood  still,  the  rapture  of  its  purer  love 
Then  died,  and  hate  for  him,  desire  for  her 
Alone  remained — and,  holy  father,  there 
The  innocent  doth  lie,  of  crime  I've  done, 
Unhappy  victim  !  while  I  know  too  late 
As,  waking  to  its  dread  enormity, 
I've  only  earned  her  hatred  and  contempt.' 
'  She  waked  to  consciousness?'  I  sternly  asked. 
'  To  consciousness,  and  yet  she  never  ceased 
To  name  me  Arnold,  and  her  love.' 

'  Thank  God 

For    that !'      Forgetting    then     my    priesthood's 
vows, 


Edalaine.  227 

My  love  for  him,  with  curse  I  drove  him  forth. 
A  father's  awful  curse,  and  threatened  him 
With  instant  death,  if  e'er  he  ventured  near 
The  shores  of  France. 

I  saved  my  brother's  wife 
From  lightest  word,  for  she  awoke  at  home. 
Ofttimes  she  wore  a  strange  and  puzzled  air, 
Or  oped  her  lips  as  if  she'd  speak  to  me, 
Then  hesitation  turned  her  speech.     One  day, 
Confessing  sin  that  she  had  feared,  not  done, 
She  said  :      '  I  cannot  tell, — but  memory 
Or  dreams  do  mock  my  thoughts, — my  husband 

came, 

And  Oh,  my  father,  love  was  born  in  me, 
A  love  I  never  knew  before,  and  then 
A  blank  came  o'er  my  dream,  and  now  I  know 
Twas  vain,  although  my  consciousness  cannot 
Gainsay  its  truth.' 


228  Edalaine. 

Some  months  had  passed  when  you, 
My  brother,  came,  and  oft  I  trembled  lest 
You  saw  the  change. 

'  My  dreams  were  mockery,' 
She  said  to  me,  '  My  husband  seems  more  stern 
Than  e'er  before,  and  when  I  told  my  dream 
He  gazed  at  me  with  bitter  scorn  !     His  looks 
Demanded  secrets  which  I  ne'er  have  held.' 
Alarmed  at  this,  I  bore  for  her  a  guilt 
Of  which  her  soul  was  pure.     Her  health  declined, 
And  more  the  puzzled  air  dwelt  on  her  face. 
I  then  persuaded  her  a  doctor  seek, 
And  he  in  turn,  through  sign  from  me,  had  pressed 
Upon  her  mind  the  needs  of  country  air. 
Aware  of  what  now  menaced  her,  I  firm 
Resolved  to  hold  from  you  the  wretched  truth, 
The  consequence  of  other's  sin. 

You  traced 
Our  steps,  and  laid  the  blame  of  wrong  on  me. 


Edalaine.  229 

Too  deeply  stunned,  I  dared  not  tell  the  truth, 

I  dared  not  rouse  within  her  mind  again 

The  image  of  the  youth  whose  glance  had  waked 

Her  heart,  then  left  it  guarded  by  its  own 

Fair  innocence.     I  could  not  then  betray 

My  son,  and  silently  I  bowed  to  blame, 

Too  late  aware  it  was  my  greatest  sin. 

God  knows  'twas  much  to  give  in  love  for  thee ; 

For  her,  and  him,  the  son  I  cursed  and  loved. 

That  day  thy  rage  had  torn  me  from  the  spot, 

Yet  all  my  thought  was  grief  for  Geraldine, 

Who  stood  accused  of  guilt  unarmed  with  proofs 

Of  innocence. 

Three  years  I  passed  on  seas 
Of  trackless  breadth  before  I  found  the  means 
To  turn  toward  home,  and  when  I  came  I  found 
No  trace  of  her.     I  entered  the  defence 
Of  Paris,  there  at  least  I  found  a  clue 
I  thought  would  lead  to  thee.     I  could  not  die, 


230  Edalaine. 

And  hope  to  sleep  in  peace,  with  weight  of  wrongs 

Like  these  upon  my  soul.     Alas,  I  fail. 

The  changing  scenes,  the  perils  of  these  times 

Do  mock  me  all,  God  grant  my  strength  fail  not." 

And  here  the  story  ended,  while  his  pen 

Had  added,  with  a  trembling  hand,  the  words  : 

"  In  that  I  loved  thee  much,  my  best  beloved, 

My  brother,  suffered  I  the  more.     Alas ! 

It  hath  not  spared  to  thee  a  bitter  grief. 

How  can  we  mortals  choose  the  way  ?     Our  best 

Is  oft  the  worst,  and  he  who  tangles  first 

The  tiny  threads  that  weave  the  mesh  of  life, 

Is  tripped  thereby  his  weary  life-time  through! 

Forgive,  my  brother,  Gcraldine,  forgive, 

And  love  at  least  thy  brother's  memory, 

Who'd  gladly  give  his  worthless  life  for  thee 

And  thine."     And  then  bedewed  with  many  a  tear, 

Was  traced  the  boyhood's  name,  and  Edalaine, 


E  da  Urine.  231 

With  swelling  heart  exclaimed,  "  God  grant  to  him 

His  written  prayer !" 

*          *          *  *          #          *          # 

Not  at  an  end  the  cares  of  Edalaineo 
The  dead  to  earth  restored,  her  living  charge 
Was  Geraldine,  whose  fluctuations  'twixt 
The  grave  and  life,  had  filled  her  anxious  heart 
With  sad  misgivings. 

Geraldine  had  said : 

"  The  end  is  come,  why  seek  to  baffle  death? 
The  summer  ends  with  winter  blasts  ;  the  leaves, 
When  nature  fills  requirements  of  her  law, 
Do  fall  to  mingle  with  the  earth  again. 
I  do  not  ask  why  was  I  born,  who  knows  ? 
The  butterfly  that  flutters  through  one  day 
Has  like,  less  need  to  ask,"  and  Edalaine — 
"  Hush,  child,  the  moths  devote  to  tasks  of  love 
Tow'rd  fellow  creatures,  must  have  taught  thee  laws 
Of  recompense.     Look  back  upon  your  youth 


232  Edalaine. 

That  now  seems  distant,  less  from  years  than  pain. 
Had  joy  the  conscious  meaning  of  to-day  ? 
"  The  meaning  of  all  earthly  joy  is  past. 
To  thrilling  of  one  word  life's  pulses  stir, 
And  that  would  prove,  I  think,  the  golden  key 
To  open  wide  the  doors  of  future  bliss. 
Forgiveness  mine,  my  pilgrimage  is  done. 
Nay,  Edalaine,  chide  not  the  wish  to  die. 
'Tis  God  that  taketh  thus  the  sting  of  death, 
By  dimming  worldly  joys  when  comes  the  hour 
To  go — this  peaceful  longing  to  be  gone, — 
The  blessing  from  His  hand,  disarming  death. 
The  sweetest  joys  of  life  would  seem  a  weight 
I  could  not  choose,  and  if  I  long  to  hear 
One  voice  again,  'tis  that  I  know  while  sweet 
To  be  forgiven,  so  forgiving  brings 
Its  blessedness,  and  I  my  saddened  life 
Would  end  with  twice-told  blessings  crowned." 


E  da  lain  e.  233 

And  she, 

The  listener,  was  silent.     "  Will  he  come  ?" 
"  You  know,  dear  Edalaine,"  the  other  spoke, 
"  I  never  loved  the  man  I  wed  and  wronged, 
Until  too  late.     I  was  a  child  to  whom 
They  pictured  life  of  freedom  ;  sacrificed 
My  youth  to  spare  the  name  my  father  bore. 
I  ne'er  had  learned  as  yet  what  freedom  meant. 
And  when  I  might   have   learned,  'twas   there   I 
failed  ! 

« 

Oh,  Edalaine  !     What  have  I  done  to  bring 
Upon  my  life  and  those  who  claimed  respect, 
Such  shame?"      And   like   a  wounded  deer,  her 

eyes 

Bespoke  her  agony,  then  drowned  themselves 
In  tears  whose  passion  frightened  Edalaine. 

Her  plaint,  the  only  witness  of  her  grief, 
Seemed  come  from  out  a  tortured  heart  that  half 


234  Edalaine. 

Was  frightened   when    'twas   done,  that   she  had 

dared 

Complain,  though  suddenly  it  swept  across 
Her  weary  heart  the  wrong  she  had  endured. 
"  Be  calm,  dear  Geraldine,  I  pray,  such  grief 
•Endangers  life,  I  could  not  tell  it  you 
Before,  you  were  too  ill,  and  now  I  wish 
You  were  content  with  sole  assurance  that 
The  accusation  'gainst  your  name  must  be 

Withdrawn,  by  proofs  that  echo  from  beyond 

• 
The  grave.    There  is  no  conscious  wrong  for  which 

To  plead  forgiveness.''     So  at  last  she  soothed 
The  stricken  one. 

At  midnight  came  a  sound 
Of  clattering  hoofs,  and  softly  Edalaine 
Had  led  the  way  to  bed-side  of  her  friend. 
"  There's  some  one  here,  dear  Geraldine." 

"  I  know," 
She  said,  "  I  heard  the  horseman,  then  the  step 


Edalaine.  235 

Of  Arnold.     God  hath  marked  the  sparrow  s  fall, 
I  die  in  peace  if  he — " 

And  Arnold  clasped 
Her  in  his  arms. 

"  Poor,  suffering  dove  ! 
What  sacrifice  would  not  be  made  if  all 
That's  past  could  be  undone.     Poor  Geraldine ! 
Forgiveness  from  your  lips  were  sweet.     To  ask 
I  dare  not."     Edalaine  then  softly  closed 
The  door  upon  a  scene  she  thought  to  see 
Was  worth  the  being  born. 

When  later  she 

Returned,  the  dawn  was  resting  o'er  the  land  ; 
Already  had  it  drawn  in  clear-cut  lines 
Each  branch  or  vine  that  clambered  o'er  the  Church 
That  served  them  in  this  time  of  need  as  house 
Of  refuge  for  the  sick,  and  as  the  wind 
Had  swayed  religiously  the  trees,  it  seemed 
To  Edalaine  that  Peace  then  moved  across 


236  Edalaine. 

The  scene  to  leave  a  benediction  o'er 
The  sleeping  world. 

Like  chiseled  marble  lay 
The  lovely  face  of  Geraldine  against 
Her  husband's   breast,    but  when   he  spoke,   she 

oped 
Her  eyes  and  smiled  on  Edalaine. 

"  Good-bye." 
And   then   he   stooped   to    catch    her    murmured 

words. 

"  Remember — love,  my — Edalaine— dear  Ar —  !" 
The  weary  life  was  done. 

###*•***# 
The  longed-for  peace 

Had  come  to  France,  and  while  the  scars  of  strife 
Must  live  for  generations  in  the  hearts 
Of  men,  time  covered  o'er  its  ruder  touch 
On  wall,  on  temple  ;  tower,  of  war-swept  towns, 
And  once  again  fair  Paris  ruled  the  world 


Edalaine.  237 

Of  fashion  ;  once  again  awoke  to  art, 

And  lured  its  students  from  all  lands  and  climes. 

The  life  of  Edalaine,  since  fearlessly 

She  bade  a  last  farewell  to  Arnold  Deith, 

Had  lost  its  charm — 'twas  when  he  told  to  her 

The  dying  words  of  Geraldine  and  said : 

"The  angel  choir  must  weep  if  we  do  part." 

"  'Twere  better  that  their  tears  bedew  the  right 

We  do,  than  weep  a  curse  I'd  bring  mankind." 

And  then  she  told  him  what  her  cross  must  be. 

"  Oh,  Edalaine,  thou  art  too  sensible, 

To  let  the  chatter  of  those  ignorant 

Old  dames  such  gloomy  heritage  portend 

To    wrong  thy  strong  young  life  and  wreck  my 

love. 

And  if  thy  fear  and  reasoning  were  just, 
Who  has  more  right  to  dedicate  their  life 
To  thee,  what'er  it  bring  ?" 


238  Edalaine. 

"  Thou,  Arnold  Deith, 
Wouldst   make   such   sacrifice,  wouldst   choose   a 

wife 

Whose  light  may  go  out  utterly,  not  pale 
To  silence  while  the  senses  fail ;  their  last, 
Best  sense,  the  seeing,  hearing,  touching  thee  ? 
Not  that,  but  go  out  horribly,  one  sense 
Betraying  all  the  rest.     Mine  eyes  see  hate 
Within  thine  eyes  ;  this  life  discolored,  till 
The  strangeness  of  my  glance   would  sting  thee 

more 

Than  venom  of  a  serpent,  telling  thee 
It  is  thy  love's — thy  wife's,  or  if  escaped — 
(And  here,  like  rose  that  sleeps  within  a  shell, 
The  color  dyed  the  rounded  cheek,  then  swept 
Off  white  the  coral  lips)  and  if  escaped 
(I  have  escaped  as  yet)  a  score  of  years, 
How  could  you  bear  our  children  weighing  words 
Of  her — their  mother,  glances  sharp  as  prick 


Edalaine.  239 

Of  needles  shoved  straight  to  the  eye,  not  less 
The  sure  that  furtively  it's  done?" 

"  Nay,  love," 

"  Nay,  Arnold,  perfect  love  like  thine  was  meant 
For  no  such  sacrifice  in  saying  yes, 
As  woman's  lonely  heart  would  lead  me  do, 
For  building  me  a  niche  above  the  needs 
Of  love,  my  weary  wings  oft  flutter  prone  to  earth 
Of  other  women,  till  my  reason  cries 
Who,  what  art  thou,  that  seekst  to  float  an  isle, 
And  live  without  the  distance  man  proscribed 
Of  air,  nor  breathe  like  them  the  oxygen  allowed, 
And  when  thy  lungs  hath  used  its  store,  flat  falls 
Thy  weight  as  theirs  might  do.     In  saying  yes, 
This  yes  of  other  women,  easy  said, 
I'd  feel  a  doom  pronounced  to  happiness 
That  now  lives  sole  in  knowledge  of  this  love, 
That  is  so  great  it  deems  no  sacrifice, 
To  still  declare  in  face  of  witnesses 


240  Edalaine. 

Like  these,  my  life  long  fears, — I  love  thee,  love, 
My  Edalaine,  and  live  to  wear  thee  on 
My  breast." 

The  words  like  burning  lava  poured 
Across  her  lips  that  seemed,  with  all  her  form, 
A  carven  image  cold  to  look  upon. 
And  once  she  smiled — why,  tears  were  not  so  sad, 
And  she  who  never  spoke  that  all  her  form 
Was  not  in  consonance  and  thrilled  to  tips 
Of  rosy  fingers,  she,  whose  earnest  soul 
Was  animate  in  every  graceful  curve 
Of  neck,  of  wrist,  of  silence'  self,  now  stood 
A  frozen  image  of  herself,  and  spoke 
As  if  she  feared  to  hear  her  own  sad  words. 
And  he  who  listened  was  not,  strange  to  tell, 
Quite  dumb  to  understanding  of  her  strange 
And  frozen  way,  and  then,  as  if  to  melt 
The  ice  with  which  she  proudly  clothed  herself, 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  wept  o'er  her, 


Edalaine.  241 

With  sudden  kisses  wiping  out  each  tear 
That  fell  from  his  upon  her  drooping  face. 
Releasing  gently  hands  that  held  her  fast, 
She  looked  at  him  again. 

"No  hope?"     Alas, 

The  gloom  remained  within  her  eyes,  and  there 
He  read  his  doom,  and  so  once  more  he  went 
'Midst  dangers,  while  she  turned  to  walk  alone. 
But  art  had  lost  its  power,  or  else  she  found 
Her  labors  there  too  far  from  definite 
Fruition  of  their  useful  ends,  and  so, 
Oft  questioned  with  herself,  if  life  were  not 
Unhinged,  or  else  quite  narrowed  to  the  aim 
Existence  only,  then  confessed  to  self — 
A  woman,  not  an  angel,  mind — confessed 
Discouragement  that  art  in  song — the  song 
That  reached  perfection,  found  no  wider  scope 
For  mind,  then  technical  precision,  like 
Some  mechanism  which,  once  set,  will  make 


242  Edalaine. 

Its  ceaseless  round.     A  wheel  within  a  wheel 
Will  do  the  same,  or  engine  at  the  touch 
Of  master  hand  will  speed  the  iron  horse. 
And  yet  when  borne  upon  the  soaring  wings 
Of  soul-inspiring  verse  and  perfect  sound, 
These  leaden  weights,  reality,  were  lost, 
And  only  sense  of  freedom — love,  what  love 
Should  be,  enthralled  her  being  then,  until 
Intoxicated  with  its  pain  or  joy, 
She'd  cry  :  "  How  blessed  is  the  power  of  song!" 
But  oftener  of  late  she  felt  constrained 
To  muse  :  "  'Tis  art  alone  I  give  the  world, 
For  well  I  know  the  difference.     My  song 
Has  lost  its  soul,"  and  then,  half  smilingly, 
"  It  sure  has  gone  a-gypsying,"  the  smile 
Then  dying  to  a  sigh,  she  thought  on  one 
Who  urged  her  once  to  sing,  and,  since  he  went, 
She'd  rather  weep. 


Mdalaine.  243 

What  weather  vanes  we  are, 
We  women,  fit  to  do,  we  think,  what  men 
Have  done,  and  then  a  passing  face  sets  nerves 
A-tremble,  till  our  awkward  hand  has  blurred 
The  figures  on  the  black-board  of  our  lives, 
And,  all  at  once,  the  problem  (nearly  solved 
We  thought)  has  lost  its  interest.     We'd  rub 
It  wholly  out  but  that  we'd  shame  our  past 
Perverseness.     Now  we  wish,  without  the  need 
Of  knowing  'tis  a  wish,  that  he  might  come, 
And,  holding  fast  resisting  hands  (we  still 
Resist,)  would  take  the  sponge  and  deftly  blot 
It  out  and  set  his  problems  there,  or  else 
Solve  ours  for  us  with  flattering  words,  "  You  soil 
Those  gentle  hands,  I  see  you  have  it,  leave 
To  me  the  finishing,  while  you  look  on." 
And  then,  safe  sheltered  in  his  arms,  what  ease 
To  see  mistakes  and  point  them  out,  till  he 
Thinks  woman's  wit  beyond  his  own. 


244  Edalaine. 

One  night 

She  stood  before  a  listening  throng  that  drank 
The  music  that  her  lips  poured  forth,  as  if 
Athirst  for  all  she  gave.     With  every  note 
They  longed  for  more,  when  all  at  once  a  cry 
Rang  through  the  place,  that  sent  a  thrill  of  fear 
And  horror  to  each  trembling  heart. 

"  Dear  friends," 

The  singer  spoke,  and  something  in  her  look 
Made  each  one  cause  to  listen. 

"  I  am  'twixt 

The  fire  and  you.     I  then  beseech  you,  one 
And  all,  take  no  alarm,  while  here  I  wait 
Your  quiet  exit,  life  depends  on  that." 
And  then,  as  if  her  will  held  back  the  ones 
Who  felt  themselves  hemmed  in  by  surging  crowds, 
The  tide  swept  slowly  out,  their  latest  glance 
Tow'rd  her  who  stood  like  gleaming  angel  that 
Had  said,  "  Obey,  and  I  will  give  you  life." 


Edalaine.  245 

Till  last  the  waiting  ones  who  watched  her  face, 
Thereon  to  read  its  hope  or  fear,  were  free 
To  go,  when  some  cried  out  to  her  in  fear, 
As  now  they  saw  the  darting  flames  above 
Her  head,  or  dropping  brands  of  fire.     And  one 
Rushed  back  to  seize  her  bodily.     But  no, 
Before  the  stage  was  reached,  she  moved  aside. 
The  lines  that  held  the  curtain  burned  away, 
It  fell  with  stunning  crash  between  the  two, 
A  sheet  of  angry  flame.     The  stranger  paused 
To  feel  an  iron  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"  Go,  seek  your  friends,  'tis  mine  the  task  to  save 
Or  perish  there  with  her  !"      And  then  the  smoke 
Swept  through  the  place  and  hid  the  face  of  him 
Who  spoke,  to  disappear  amidst  the  flames. 
The  fierce,  mad  element  licked  out  each  mark 
Of  art  within  the  place,  devoured  the  walls 
With  wild  insatiate  hate,  and  filled  the  hearts 
Of  those  that  watched,  with  awe  and  thankfulness 


246  Edalaine. 

At  their  escape,  or  agony  of  fear 
For  those  who  not  yet  found  might  be  amidst 
The  flames.     And  when  a  cry  of  joy  had  sped 
From  lip  to  lip,  they  knew  that  Edalaine 
Had  been  from  peril  freed,  unconscious  yet 
To  what  had  passed  or  loving  words  of  him 
Who  imperiled  life  in  saving  her. 

The  morn 

That  marked  the  horror  of  the  night  with  charr'd* 
Remains,  revealed  that  five  poor  victims  lay 
Beneath  the  ruined  walls,  and  Edalaine 
The  sacred  duty  took  upon  herself 
To  give  them  kindly  burial,  and  wept 
Above  the  blackened  forms  of  those  who  were 
Her  humble  aids  while  striving  so  to  reach 
True  excellence. 

*  Five  pupils  of  Francesco  Lamperti  were  burned  in  an 
Opera  House  at  Nice,  and  Julia  Valda,  an  American  then 
singing  there,  took  charge  of  the  remains.  The  maestro 
was  unable  to  continue  his  duties  for  a  year,  such  was  the 
shock  to  his  nerves. — AUTHOR. 


Edalaine.  247 

One  day  when  all  was  past, 
And  wonderingly  she  mused  upon  her  own 
Escape,  an*!  marveled  that  she  ne'er  could  learn 
The  name  of  him  who  saved  her  life  that  night, 
The  servant  entered,  bringing  her  a  card. 
"  Dear  Edalaine,"  it  read,  "  I  scarce  dare  come, 
But  something  tells  me  that  misfortune  claims, 
As  ever,  gentle  treatment  at  your  hands, 
And  I  have  such  a  longing  for  the  voice 
Of  some  old  friend,  I  cannot  wait  the  day 
My  ills  have  passed  from  me."     And  she  with  heart 
Whose  strong  emotion  choked  her  voice,  had  said  : 
"  Please  send  to  me  the  bearer  of  this  card." 
Then  looked  as  if  she  fain  would  flee  the  room. 
And  when  a  moment  later,  pale  but  calm, 
The  face  of  Arnold  Deith, — the  broad,  white  brow 
The  full  and  speaking  eyes,  had  met  her  own, 
She  stood  a  palpitating  presence,  while 
The  well-known  music  of  his  voice  had  said, 


248  Edalaine. 

In  playful  tone,  the  speech  pathetic  made 
By  truthfulness : 

"  You  see  we  stand  apart. 

You  needs  must  come  to  me,  for  though  I  still 
Can  clasp  your  hands  in  two  strong,  friendly  ones, 
I  cannot  reach  your  side  quite  yet  without 
This   aid."     And   here   he   marked  with  glance  a 

crutch. 

She  did  not  move,  but  seemed  denied  the  power. 
Then,  o'er  her  face  there  grew  a  glowing  light, 
As,  struggling  with  a  doubt,  it  breaks  away. 
The  light  transfused  her  eyes  and  speaking  face, 
And  with  its  glory  she  had  seemed  transformed. 
A   mantle  that  had   wrapped  her  round,  seemed 

then 

To  fall  away, — the  darkness  of  the  doubt, 
And  radiantly,  as  if  she  trod  on  air 
Or  borne  along  by  his  desire,  she  reached 
His  outstretched  waiting  arms,  for  o'er  his  soul 


Edalaine.  249 

The  light  had  shed  its  glory,  bringing  joy 

He  thought  had  been  unborn  for  him.     All  earth 

Had  turned  to  chaos  as  these  two  did  solve 

The  problem  in  a  kiss,  whose  lingering  touch 

Of  passion  breathed  a  sigh  whose  rapture  swelled 

The  chord  of  ecstacy  to  break  against 

The  shores  of  infinite  bliss  in  shuddering  moan. 

And  she  at  last  had  voiced  :  "  I  might  have  known 

Who  came  to  save  a  life  I  held  but  light 

If  sacrificed  for  full  a  thousand  lives  !" 

And  he  with  happy,  eyes:  "Just  that,  I  claimed 

What  you  had  thrown  away  as  valueless. 

You  see,"  he  laughed,  "  my  generosity 

Was  born  of  earth  and  is  perhaps  at  fault. 

The  life  once  yours  is  mine  to  hold  and  keep, 

I  would  not,  if  you  wished,  restore  it  you." 

At  which,  though  silently,  she  looked  at  him, 

Her  tender  smile  was  tremulous  with  tears. 

The  twilight  sank  to  dusk,  the  dark  to  night, 


250  Edalaine. 

And    still  their  thoughts   were   linked   in   ready 

words, 

The  leaves  of  roses  pricked  together  each 
With  tiny  thorn,  as  children  weave  in  play 
Their  garlands.      So  they   made,    more   gravely, 

shroud 

To  twine  about  the  past  at  burial. 
And  some  without  the  thorns  were  garlanded, 
To  strew,  with  eager  heart,  the  path  that  stretched 
Beyond  their  feet.     So  strange  that  emblems  serve 
So  differently.     We  weep  for  grief,  and  yet 
How  easy  'tis  to  show'r  our  joys  with  tears. 
A  lark  shot  upward,  caught  the  growing  light 
Upon  the  wing,  and  sent  to  sleeping  earth 
Ecstatic  notes  that  herald  joyous  morn. 
The  house  cat  stretched  upon  the  narrow  edge 
Of  latticed  fence,  oped  wide  her  green-gray  eyes, 
To  bathe  them  with  the  lambent  light,  and  touch 
To  yellow  gold  their  sleepy  disk?,  then  stretched 
Her  suppleness  to  lazier  comfort.     Leaves, 


Edalaine.  251 

Dyed  black  by   night,  assumed  their  dainty  green, 
And  then  a  flame  of  red  shot  o'er  the  sea 
Before  he  rose  and  whisoered : 

"  Edalaine, 

My  pilgrimage  is  like  the  conqueror 
Who  went  from  home  in  humble  guise,  but  who 
Returning  wears  the  royal  crown  and  robes. 
'Tis  more  than  I  deserved,  or  hoped  of  late." 
"  Ah,  hush  !"  she  said,  "  the  conqueror  must  still 
Be  merciful  in  dealing  with  the  conquered, 
Or  like  worthy  diplomat,  receive  a  gift 
As  if  the  favor  were  conferred  else  that 
My  wilfulness  betray  again  my  heart. 
Your  pow'r  has  waked  me  from  the   night-mare 

fear, 

And  lo!  at  your  command,  '  Believe,'  I  place 
My  fingers  wonderingly  within  the  wound 
That's  left  by  cruel  nails  upon  the  cross, 
And  confident  reply,  '  I  do  believe.' 
And  generous,  you  promise  me  my  art — 


252  Edalainc. 

Though  man,  in  thinking  it  a  bauble  toy. 

But  I  accept  the  gift  as  if  you  knew 

Its  worth.     I  willingly  o'erlook  the  slight 

In  recognition  of  the  sacrifice, 

It  may,  perchance  (though  but  a  toy),  demand. 

I  know  at  last  the  loneliness  of  fame, 

The  incompleteness  of  a  life  when  once 

The  magic  hand  has  swept  its  slumbering  strings 

To  sound  of  love.     I  now  can  sing  as  ne'er 

Before.     My  life  divided  'twixt  my  art 

And  thee,  had  lost  its  power.     Once  more  I  know 

Completion,  and  can  verify  the  truth. 

How  slow  we  are  to  grow  in  mind  !     I  thought 

My  art  had  nothing  more,  because  my  life 

Stood  still.     But  art  is  broader,  higher  yet 

Than  fame.     To  stop  at  fame  were  robbing  art 

Of  highest  worth,  the  inner  consciousness 

Of  what  art  is,  not  comprehended  quite 

By  those  who  dip  our  name  in  crucible 

That  luminous,  is  moulded  to  the  word 


Edalaine.  253 

Of  '  Fame.' 

And  he,  with  slowly  budding  smile  : 
"  But  what  will  say  the  world  of  him  who  lets 
The  bird  once  caged,  wing  other  flights  ?" 

"  Ah,  there 

We  meet  again  the  blindness  that  hath  naught 
Of  sight  beyond  the  meagreness  of  fame. 
One  says,  '  I'd  never  let  any  wife  take  wing.' 
Confessing  so,  and  unaware,  the  man's 
Pure  selfishness.     That  man  would  let  his  wife 
Bake  bread,  or  mend  his  vest,  go  fetch  his  boots, 
His  slippers,  cap,  his  coat  or  wine  ;  do  all 
Those  things  a  servant  better  might  have  done, 
Learned  only  in  such  usefulness  of  life, 
And  thinks  himself  unselfish  that  he  takes 
From  out  her  hand  life's  chosen  work.     He  clips 
Her  ready  wings,  until,  no  matter  what 
Her  flutterings  may  be,  she  fain  must  stay 
Content  to  hop  around  the  homestead  hearth, 
To  peck  the  crumbs  there  thrown  to  her,  and  ape 


254  Edalaine. 

Humility  that's  born  without  the  wings." 
He  smiles  indulgently,  to  hear  her  talk 
Half  bitterly,  and  half  with  that  contempt 
That's  born  observing  yet  the  serfdom  laid 
On  womanhood,  and  whispered  : 

"What  of  her 
Whose  noble  strength  has  stemmed  the  storms  ? 

Will  she 

At  last  be  glad  to  fold  awhile  the  wings ; 
Those  weary  wings,  and  rest  at  home  with  me?" 
"  How,  traitor,  born  a  diplomat,  I  need 
Not  say,  be  diplomatic  still,  you'd  have 
Your  way,  convincing  me  I  have  my  own  !" 
"  Oh,  sweetest  lips  that  ever  spoke  a  truth, 
You  steal  my  very  thoughts  and  so  I  seal, 
The  future  while  your  lips  are  formed  to  shape 
The  dear  impertinence, — '  Can  love  e'er  tell 
What  love  may  do  ?'  " 

FINIS. 


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